Guardian
by Flashback 1701
Summary: As a member of the Beilschmidt family, Ludwig has sworn a solemn oath to protect his charge, Feliciano Roma-Vargas with his life. However, neither of them expected to be the catalysts of a underground war. GerIta. AU
1. Chapter 00: Rome and Germania

"I will stand by him at all times, and protect him until my last breath has left my lips and the last drop of my blood has been shed."

Ludwig Beilschmidt is a highly trained bodyguard, a member of the famed Beilschmidt family, but will he be able to face the constant peril that surrounds one Feliciano Roma-Vargas?

* * *

Chapter 00: Rome and Germania

No one knew exactly when or how the Roma family had obtained its fortune, but everyone who was anyone was fully aware of its vast wealth and political power. Mr. Roma was an eccentric man who held shares in companies all over the world and owned half a dozen estates in various nations. His daughter and son-in-law had died tragically in a plane crash only a few years before, leaving their two sons in his custody: Lovino and Feliciano Roma-Vargas.

The brothers led a sheltered life, safe from potential kidnappers and scammers. Mr. Roma knew as soon as he laid eyes on them that if something happened to either of them, he would sell his soul to the devil himself to make things right. Of course, this was a very bad position to be in when one has a great deal to lose, and not nearly so much to gain. It was decided then that Lovino and Feliciano would be set under constant protection once they reached their thirteen birthdays. Until then, they were kept close to Mr. Roma and watched carefully by the man known only as Codename: Germania.

A much more mysterious figure than his wealthy counterpart, Germania was the head of the Beilschmidt house, an all-male family of bodyguards who were trained from infancy to become merciless killers in order to defend the lives of the Roma family. It was unknown as to when this arrangement had come about, but it was a generations-old tradition honored by both families. Once a Roma reached the age of separation (when he/she was no longer considered a child and was able to venture from his/her parent's side), he/she was assigned a Beilschmidt guard chosen specifically for that individual. The two then exchanged a binding oath – one that could only end in death – and remained side-by-side until one or both perished.

And so it happened that, as the Roma-Vargas brothers grew in their lavish apartments and luxurious estates, two other young boys endured harsh training to be given the privilege to protect them.

* * *

I know that Gilbert's surname has been written as "Weillschmidt" and "Beilschmidt," but I chose to use the latter seeing as it's apparently an actual German name meaning "Axe Smith."

I've been excited about writing this story ever since the initial idea came to me half-way through writing "The Chemistry of Physics." I hope you will enjoy this fic as much as I've enjoyed putting it together!


	2. Chapter 01: A Meeting

Chapter 01: A Meeting

Ludwig Beilschmidt's heart fluttered in his throat as he stared out the tinted-glass window to his right. The estate beyond the glass was impressive to say the least – its sprawling gardens and intricately-designed buildings were elegant and well-kept, radiating a sense of wealth and appreciation for beauty. His young features were contorted with a slight scowl as he carefully counted the windows, recalling his studies of the manor's blueprints. A door here, the grand ballroom there, a secret escape route tucked behind the grandfather clock in the hallway of the third floor.

_Ahem._ The car rolled to a stop. The man driving shifted it to park and turned to face the boy in one fluid motion, silently appraising him behind darkened lenses.

"_Ja, Opa?_" Ludwig gave the man his full attention. Already the boy displayed the beginnings of a muscular man. His shoulders, now rather knobby-looking, would soon fill out to be quite broad, and his long, awkward arms would soon gain strength through puberty and vigorous physical training. His eyes were strong and determined – a bright, clear blue – and his now-narrow jaw line was already set and stubborn.

"You remember what you've been taught, right?"

"Yes sir."

"And you remember the boy's name?"

"Feliciano Roma-Vargas, sir."

"Good." The elder allowed himself a rare smile. "You must convince Mr. Roma that you are worthy of guarding his grandson. No matter what happens, protected him with your life."

"Yes sir."

"We are the best of the best, Ludwig. It's up to you to uphold our family's honor."

His eyes flickered with nerves and the weight of this new responsibility. "Yes sir."

"Go on, then. You're dismissed."

Ludwig nodded briskly and let himself out of the car. The bodyguard watched as the boy's flaxen locks were caught by the wind, fluttering restlessly about his forehead. Sensing this as a potential distraction, Ludwig spat onto his hands and swept his hair back into a more severe style that made him appear a young adult rather than the teenager he was. Straightening his tie one last time, the boy strode quickly to the entrance of the grand manor, not even pausing to look back.

Turning off the car, his grandfather exited the black sedan, his own hair waving gently in the wind despite the ponytail that held it in place. He remembered his first meeting with his charge. Though he'd been a few years older than Ludwig, he'd been much more apprehensive. Now, standing before the legendary estate, he felt almost nostalgic. Almost. Theirs was an unfriendly line of work: if you protected your charge, chances were that you'd be killed, if you failed to protect your charge, chances were that you'd be killed. It was a lose-lose situation, really.

"Codename: Germany has entered the Circle. I repeat, Codename: Germany has entered the Circle." The words crackled from his lips and into his subordinates' earpieces. For this exercise, the man was required to remain outside. He could offer his grandson no help whatsoever – save, perhaps, prayer.

* * *

Inside, Ludwig could barely believe his eyes. Crystal, marble, _gold_ – everything looked expensive and untouchable. The walls were draped with velvet, adorned with priceless works of art and trimmed with the finest of woods, carved with intricate detail. He couldn't help but stare, turning his head from side to side so as to take in as much of the scenery as possible. The vast interior was then processed and snapped neatly into his photographic memory.

"Ah, you must be Ludwig! _Benvenuto! _Your grandfather told me about you." A rather eccentric-looking man greeted him in Italian, striding easily down the marble staircase with a friendly smile on his lips. The boy recognized him easily as the owner of the estate.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Roma."

"Throw away those formalities, young man. Come in, come in!"

Ludwig took a steadying breath, squaring his shoulders and stepping forward with as much conviction as he could muster. For as long as he could remember, he had been trained to fill this position.

The young Beilschmidt had begun his combat training at four: he held a black belt in two martial arts styles and was quickly approaching a third, he had fired his first weapon at a young age and had become an expert marksman by the time he was ten, he had gutted out brutal survival camps armed with only a knife and a box of matches. Indeed there were very few situations in which Ludwig's cool-headed confidence wavered.

And not only was he trained in military combat, but also in such skills as ballet, ballroom dancing, and etiquette. Just as every Beilschmidt before him, Ludwig spoke several languages fluently before he reached adolescence, and held sufficient knowledge in just about everything: culinary arts, musical theory and technique, psychology, social graces, mechanics, human anatomy… the list continued on forever. If there was anyone on the planet more qualified for the job than he, Ludwig would have loved to meet them.

The estate's owner drew nearer, examining him the way one might a purebred horse or show dog. "Splendid. Just as to be expected of the Beilschmidt lineage."

"Thank you, sir." The boy's lips twitched slightly – there was no such thing. Each member of the Beilschmidt family had been scouted by a preexisting member, taken off the street and from an orphanage to become one of the most feared and mysterious bodyguards in the world. Because of this, Ludwig had never known a mother, but he'd accepted Germania as his father figure, eager to learn and follow in the bodyguard's footsteps. In reality, they didn't share so much as a drop of blood. "Grandfather" was simply a term of respect in lieu of the man's position as the current patriarch of the Beilschmidt family.

"You have Germania's looks." Mr. Roma offered, kindly tousling the his blond hair. "If you're even a fraction of the guard he is, I know my grandson will be in good hands."

"Thank you, sir."

"What did I just tell you?" He playfully dug his fist into the boy's scalp, "Just call me 'Rome'."

Ludwig didn't flinch. "Rome?"

"Didn't Germania explain the codename system?" Now he looked surprised. "Ah, we're getting too old for this, eh?"

The blonde didn't respond.

"Every member of the household has a codename, usually corresponding with the country or region they're from." Mr. Roma spread his arms as he spoke, gesturing loosely. "You see, I've hired brilliant individuals from all around the world, and sometimes names and pronunciations escape me. Of course, the main purpose is purely safety. By using codenames, we can confuse outsiders and protect our true identities. Surely you didn't believe that your grandfather's name was Germania."

Again, Ludwig said nothing, but a slight blush rose to his cheeks – he'd never heard his grandfather called anything else. Sensing that this might be the case, the magnate shrugged.

"It seems as though he's never had any other title. They probably had to change his birth certificate when he started working here." After a brief chuckle at his own joke, Mr. Roma clapped his hands. "I suppose I ought to introduce you to your charge."

"Yes sir… I mean, Rome."

"That's better." The man smiled, then turned to face the staircase once more. "Feliciano? You can come out now!"

A shy-looking boy inched from behind the heavy wooden doors, an almost tearful expression on his face. Ludwig studied his features carefully, taking in his ski-jump nose, bright, round eyes, and curved lips. Feliciano looked almost like a little girl rather than the thirteen-year-old boy he was.

"Isn't he just the cutest thing?" The proud grandfather urged, grinning broadly.

"Of course."

Mr. Roma eyed him, expression turning stern. "Don't you get any ideas… he's my little boy, after all."

The young guard's cheeks burned with the implication. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Feliciano had reached the foot of the staircase and was peering curiously at the blonde adolescent. When Ludwig's eyes met his, he looked away immediately, frightened by the intensity he saw in the sharp, sapphire gaze. There was no emotion in those icy depths, only a militaristic sort of severity that the Italian couldn't fathom, and it scared him. It was almost as if this strange individual wasn't quite human.

"Ludwig," Mr. Roma was saying, "this is Feliciano, Codename: Veneziano."

"Pleased to meet you." His awkwardly large, square hand dwarfed his charge's as they shook.

The boy's Italian had an odd, strained tone, as though he didn't truly enjoy the language.

"Feliciano, this is Ludwig, Codename: Germany."

"Germany?" His amber eyes widened as he examined the blonde with new-found interest. "So he's from Germany?"

Mr. Roma nodded to the new bodyguard, urging him to speak.

"Eh, yes. I was born there."

"I was born in Venice!" Feliciano fired back immediately, effortlessly striking up a conversation. "What city where you born in?"

"Bonn, near the Rhine."

"Wow, really? That's-"

A gunshot rang through the air. Ludwig watched with a vague sense of horror as the bullet struck Mr. Roma, sending him tumbling to the ground amidst a violent spray of blood. Beside him, his charge squealed, sending the newly appointed guard into defense mode. An inventory of his surroundings flickered across his consciousness, alerting him of the possible exits and entrances for a potential shooter as he rapidly calculated the amount of time it would take to reach any of them. It occurred to him that the main hall (in which they were gathered) was probably the most convenient setting in the entire mansion for an assassination attempt. From where they stood, it would take them at least 8.37 seconds to reach any of given exits, and the wide alcove above the front entrance provided a perfect perch for snipers.

All this was figured in less than two seconds, two seconds which had been spent flinging Feliciano to the ground. Ludwig's hand went immediately to his gun, tucked into its shoulder holster under his suit coat, drawing it and releasing the safety. The hall went silent.

"Veneziano," His voice was low and his lips barely moved. "No matter what happens, stay behind me."

The terrified Italian boy nodded, tears already dripping down his pump cheeks. "B-but what about…"

"Leave him. He's dead." Ludwig surveyed the corpse, attempting to judge the bullet's trajectory. At such an angle, it would appear that the sniper was hidden on the balcony overlooking the main hall. He took up aim. If he could ricochet his shot off the wall…

A blue eye squinted in concentration.


	3. Chapter 02: Codenames

Chapter 02: Codenames

Suddenly, a soft chuckle broke the stillness. "I knew you were a worthy investment."

The words sent a shiver down the blonde's spine as his charge stiffened at his side. Turning his head in alarm, Ludwig watched as Mr. Roma sat upright, wiping the blood from his lips.

"Sharp as a tack, just like your old man."

The boys gaped, faces pale and eyes wide. Feliciano dissolved into hopeless tears as his protector tucked his surprise behind his usual, composed expression, scolding himself for letting his guard down.

"Thank you, Switzerland." The man continued, winking towards the balcony. A well-armed youth dropped onto the landing, shaking his straight-cut bangs from his eyes.

"Of course." He gave a brief bow and left without another word.

"That's Basch Zwingli, head of grounds security." Mr. Roma explained, addressing Ludwig, "He's the greatest sharpshooter I've ever met."

"I see…"

Suddenly, his grandson threw his arms around him and began crying into his chest. "_Nonno_!"

The man grinned and swept the boy off the marble floor. Pressing a strong kiss to his forehead, he murmured, "Sorry, Feli, but you couldn't know. That's just how it is."

"B-b-but I thought you were d-dead…"

"I know, I know. I'm sorry." With a sheepish look, Mr. Roma turned to face Ludwig once more. "I hope you're ready to meet the staff. The moment you passed the test, everyone started preparations."

"Preparations, sir?"

"For the welcoming ceremony. Congratulations, Germany, and welcome to the Roma Estate."

* * *

Even at this party held in his honor, the young man felt out of place. Staff members filled the hall, chattering animatedly as he found himself with his back to the wall. The gathering was grand, as to be expected of the Roma estate. Pricey champagne and similarly expensive food items were prepared with such skill that it took all of his self control not to stare.

Across the room, a fairly attractive blond man was fussing over various dishes, clapping his hands and ordering people about with an unavoidable air of self-importance. Suddenly, the chef caught sight of the young guard. Haughty blue eyes widened in surprise before narrowing into pleased crescents.

"Oh, _bonjour._ Are you _Allemagne_?" The man flounced towards him, extending a slim hand. "_Je m'appelle France._"

Ludwig hesitated for a moment before switching into French. "_Ouí, je m'appelle Allemagne._"

"Ah! You speak French? _Magnifique_!"

"_Mercí._"

"So you're little Italy's new bodyguard?" The man surveyed him carefully, gaze lingering somewhat lower than eyelevel.

"Veneziano's guard, yes." It seemed almost as if the chef was trying to show off, skipping merrily from one language to the next. Luckily, English wasn't too terribly difficult. Though he was fluent in many tongues, Ludwig often felt ashamed of his accent, the thick German inflection overpowering his words – especially his Italian. He had never quite mastered the proper rhythm for that particular romance language.

"You're much better looking than your brother," the man said finally, lips pursed as though in deep thought.

He blinked. "You know Gil-"

"Prussia."

"Yes, Prussia." A faint smile flickered across the young guard's face. If there was ever a nation like his brother, the belligerent Kingdom of Prussia would be it.

"But of course. He and I are good friends-"

His statement was suddenly cut short by a loud cry.

"West!"

Ludwig cringed as his elder brother, Gilbert, swept forward, a glass of beer in hand. His blonde-white hair and crimson eyes marked him as an albino, and his raucous voice marked him as an insufferably obnoxious screw off.

"…Prussia." The displeasure in his voice was evident as the pale man threw an arm around his shoulders.

"Ya miss me, West?" Gilbert laughed, taking a great gulp of beer. "Hell, I haven't seen you for ages! And you, Frenchy, where the hell've you been hiding?"

The man called France shrugged gracefully, looking down his slender nose at the brothers. "Some of us, _mon ami_, had work to be done."

"Like I haven't been busy!" He rolled his crimson eyes, as if to say, _Can you believe this idiot, West?_ "Romano's been carting me all over goddamn creation, you know? One minute he wants to drive into town, the next, he wants to check out the garden. I mean, what the hell?"

He sighed dramatically, taking the opportunity to drain his glass.

Gilbert had been born on the outskirts of East Berlin. After being abandoned at an orphanage, his physical toughness and overall determination to survive caught the attention of a scouting Beilschmidt. He'd been about two years old at the time. Now aged eighteen, he was a loud-mouthed young man convinced of his own superiority in just about everything, and perhaps rightly so. His aggression and combative ability surpassed all of the current Beilschmidts, not to mention a good portion of the previous members, and his mind was that of a tactical genius. However, his social skills left something to be desired.

"So, West, you meet everyone yet?"

Ludwig looked at him for a moment, then shook his head slowly. If there was one thing he hated, it was not knowing something his brother did – superior knowledge of _anything _went directly to the albino's head.

"Cool, then I'll show you around to everyone!" Grabbing the boy's arm, Gilbert dragged him away from the French chef who'd just resumed his command of the various servers who littered the hall.

"Don't mind Francis." His brother whispered, hiding the action with a quick embrace. "He's actually not a bad guy."

The blonde nodded, straightened his shirt, and asked, "Where's your charge?"

Gilbert looked at him for a long time before he began to chuckle. Pulling the boy into a quick headlock, he answered, "Getting ready for the big event, just like yours. You didn't really think I'd just ditch him, did you? Actually, don't answer that." He grinned. "I'd like to imagine that you think I'm totally awesome."

"You haven't changed."

"_Gott,_ West." The young man pouted. "I think you've gotten to be even a bigger stick-in-the-mud since last time I saw you… how long's it been? Two, three years?"

"Four."

Gilbert grumbled, plucking fresh beer from a passing server's tray. "C'mon, can't you at least speak in full sentences? You're killing me here."

Ludwig shrugged, rolling his eyes at his elder brother's complaints. He wasn't here to mingle or socialize – he was here to do his job. However, Mr. Roma and Feliciano had vanished after the "test" (what a cruel charade, to have played him for such a fool… just the thought made Ludwig's blood boil), leaving him at the mercy of the older guard.

"Yo, Austria!" A vaguely familiar young man with neatly-styled hair the color of dark chocolate, and impatient, indigo eyes whirled sharply on his heel to face Gilbert. A small frown etched itself onto his thin lips above a small, round mole. Either the albino missed this reaction, or he ignored it as he clapped a hand onto the Austrian's shoulder. "It's been awhile, man. Didja miss me?"

"No, I can't say I have," the irritable employee ground out, carefully plucking the unwanted appendage from his shoulder and readjusting his small, rectangular spectacles. "How are you, Prussia?"

"I'm awesome, as usual." Gilbert paused to let out his strange giggle. "Anyway, this is my little brother, uh…"

"Germany. Pleased to meet you." Ludwig stuck out his hand. After a moment of hesitation (and visually inspecting the blonde's hand for any sign of dirt or food), he took it.

"Austria. The pleasure's all mine."

The moment they shook, the young guard knew that the man was a musician. His fingers were long and slender, well-manicured and slightly calloused. He seemed to hold a graceful dexterity in his digits as he loosely gripped Ludwig's thick, rough hand.

"You're a musician."

The man called Austria looked at him for a moment before answering. "Yes, and you're a bodyguard."

"He plays the piano." Gilbert cut in, looking bored with the direction the conversation was taking. "And the violin. It's really fucking annoying when he's in his studio all day playing the same fucking song for six hours straight. I mean, I can't even figure out when he goes to the bathroom!"

"Well, that's none of your business, is it?" The brunette scowled.

Sparks flew between the young men as eyes narrowed and frowns deepened. The tension was almost tangible, weighing heavily on all three. For a long time, no one moved.

"Prussia!" A pretty woman approached with long, powerful strides, fists tightened at her sides.

Ludwig barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Once again, it seemed as though Gilbert had managed to rub just about _everyone_ the wrong way. Perhaps it was a good thing that they weren't actually blood related.

"Prussia, you idiot!" Her German had a thick Magyar accent as she screeched at the guard, thrusting a slim finger into his chest. "You were supposed to present your brother to the staff almost fifteen minutes ago!"

"I run on my own time, Hungary. You should know that by now." The albino snorted, flashing the young woman a daring smile. She inhaled slowly, as though fighting back the urge to throttle him.

Austria shook his head in disbelief. "It's an absolute miracle that Master Romano hasn't been shot y-"

"Don't even think of finishing that thought." Gilbert had seized the man by his collar, his twitching fingers only a hairsbreadth away from the other's exposed throat, as he glared at him with blazing, scarlet eyes. Ludwig knew better than anyone the amount of rage and intimidation that could be found in his brother's hostile gaze. It was the look of a cornered animal – determined, wild, and dangerous.

The pianist said nothing, indignantly tugging the wrinkles from his shirt when he was released. Though it remained unspoken, it was obvious to all that Gilbert would have easily outclassed the dark-haired man in a fight.

"Right, c'mon West." His tone still held an edge (nursing his threatened pride, no doubt), but he'd fixed a cocky smirk onto his lips. Tossing back the last of his beer, he handed the empty glass to the young woman, and led Ludwig away.

"Roddy and Lizzie," Gilbert mumbled in an undertone as soon as they were out of hearing, "Gonna get married next spring."

"What was her name?" His younger brother pretended not to hear him, successfully bruising his already-battered ego.

"Just as conversational as ever, eh, West?"

"_Bruder_…"

"Her name's Hungary." The albino sighed, giving up on his lost cause of a sibling. "She's not all too bad for a chick and all."

The Beilschmidts approached the low stage at the front of the hall that had been prepared for them. Beside the platform, the "sniper" from earlier stood waiting, tapping his black-booted toe impatiently. As Gilbert approached, the man offered him the microphone, emerald eyes snapping.

"Don't fuck it up." He hissed, employing the same, no-nonsense tone he'd used with Mr. Roma.

The elder brother waved him off, striding fearlessly to the center of the stage. The crowd fell silent, looking up at him in muted expectation. He grinned, clearly in his element.

"All right, listen up." He addressed them in nearly-flawless Italian, making Ludwig flush with jealousy. "I'm here to introduce my little bro who'll be the meat shield for little Italy from now on. Hold your applause, ladies and gents, Codename: Germany!"

The spotlight swung around, falling on the young bodyguard. In an instant, all eyes were on him. He coughed softly, inclining his head. Social situations were far from his forte, in fact, he'd never quite perfected the art of human communications. However, this didn't seem to matter, because all around him, staff members were clapping politely with approval etched onto their faces. Swept up in the moment, Ludwig allowed himself a rare moment of self-indulgence. He smiled.


	4. Chapter 03: An Oath

Chapter 03: An Oath

Country names whirled around the main hall as Ludwig shook hands with other Roma employees, nodding his head at all the right moments. To him, it was another exercise, another test. He'd studied human behavior for years, and knew how people would react to specific actions. He knew how to politely converse, appear interested, and even (if he absolutely had to) exchange friendly jokes, however, none of these skills seemed natural to him. Sooner or later, he found himself stumbling over his words, scrabbling for something witty/intelligent/sympathetic to say.

Just as he was growing uneasy, the double doors at the back of the hall were flung open and Mr. Roma made his entrance. Flanked by his grandsons and faithful bodyguard, the owner of the estate strode in, spreading his arms with a sweeping gesture.

"Good evening, nations of the world." He joked, his rich voice bounced through the gathering, brimming with goodwill and laughter. "Is everyone enjoying themselves?"

A polite roar of approval rumbled through the hall as glasses were raised in salute. At Ludwig's side, Gilbert fidgeted.

"What is it, _bruder_?"

The albino bent close to him. "Look, West, Rome might seem like a womanizing party-animal, but he's sharp. Watch out."

"For what?" The blond's tone was impatient but held a note of curiosity.

Gilbert considered him for a moment before, finally, he replied. "I dunno, but I know it's big."

"You two!" A harsh voice made the brothers jump, hands going for their concealed firearms. The man called Switzerland rolled his eyes.

"Put those away." Everything about him seemed to exude impatience. "Your charges are here, so go do your jobs, you bums."

They nodded. Ludwig's face flushed with shame – the man was absolutely right. Tonight (and for the rest of his existence) Feliciano would take president in his life. From now on, everything would be done to better the well-being of this one person. Nerves seared at the pit of his stomach as he found himself picking his way through the crowd, making his way towards the Italian.

Finally he emerged, bowing low to his charge. "Good evening, Veneziano."

"Wrong one, dumbass."

The blond's head snapped up in an instant, humiliation coloring his ears scarlet. Indeed this boy looked very similar to Feliciano, however, Ludwig was quite sure that the irritable expression on this one's face didn't match the gentle disposition of the boy he'd met before. It also seemed unlikely that the Italian had grown five inches since he'd last seen him. That meant…

"Yo, West, why're you talking to my charge?" Gilbert seemed to appear from nowhere, roughly nooging the younger Beilschmidt. "Is he bothering you, Romano?"

"You've got a fucking brother?" The Roma-Vargas spat, looking at the albino with contempt. "Damn, just when I thought my life couldn't get in fucking worse, some country bumpkin, potato-eating faggot has to pop outta fucking nowhere. Shit!"

Ludwig had never quite gotten an education in Italian slang/curse words, so he'd only caught half of the boy's rant, and judging from his expression, he wasn't pleased.

"Allow me to offer my sincerest apologies, Romano." He spoke respectfully, ignoring the murder in the brunet's eyes. They were hazel, and lacked the cheer and warmth Feliciano's amber ones held. It seemed as though these brothers were also set on opposite sides of the spectrum.

"I can't understand you because your nasty, Kraut accent ruins the flow of your shitty Italian. Why don't you just jump off a fucking bridge and save me the trouble, beer breath?"

Right then, Ludwig accepted the fact that theyoung man would never like him. Fortunately, Romano's attention was drawn away by the smiling gardener (if Ludwig remembered properly, his name was "Spain") who was similarly berated by the quick-tempered Italian. This time, however, the insults seemed to be even more vicious – as though set aside especially for the poor man. Strangely enough, the angry coloring of the boy's face seemed to hold something other than rage. Was it…?

"Germany!" A pair of arms wrapped themselves about Ludwig's middle, setting off alarms and red alerts in the young guard's mind. Luckily, he managed to recognize Feliciano before the boy was flung to the ground with a perfectly executed shoulder throw.

"Veneziano, I apologize for the delay." The blond bowed again, this time to the proper Roma-Vargas.

"You can just call me Italy, you know." Feliciano didn't seem to care as he gazed up at the taller boy with a pure sort of glee in his eyes. "It's shorter, and everyone does it."

"Italy?"

"_Si!_"

"Would you prefer it?"

Again the Italian nodded. "Veneziano sounds so long and boring… What's the point of a nickname if it's just as long as my real name?" He laughed.

"Italy…" Ludwig nodded. The name suited him somehow. Then it struck him – did Feliciano truly believe "Italy" to be a simple nickname?

"Italy, I-"

"Young men, are you ready?" Mr. Roma had come up from behind, wrapping the two of them in a strong-armed embrace. "It's time."

* * *

Feliciano shuddered as his new bodyguard stared at him, his cold, pale gaze boring a hole in his head. He wished that he would smile, or blink, or look away – anything but glower at him with such an empty expression. He was a robot, the brunet was sure of it. How else could one remain emotionless for so long?

Behind the boy stood Germania, tall and handsome. The Italian couldn't help but notice the resemblance between the two of them, the main differences being the gentle green shade of the elder's eyes and the length of his hair.

"Germany," His voice was calm and controlled as he instructed his grandson, "take Veneziano's hand and repeat after me. It's time for you to take your oath."

Feliciano decided that he liked holding hands with Ludwig. His hands were so large and strong that it felt as though they alone could shield him from any harm. Feliciano trusted those hands.

Suddenly, the guards were speaking in a foreign language – one that the brunet believed to be German. Unable to understand the words being spoken, the Italian studied the faces of the guards.

"I, state your name."

"I, Ludwig Beilschmidt…"

"Swear my undying allegiance…"

"Swear my undying allegiance…"

"To state the name of your charge."

"To Feliciano Roma-Vargas."

"I will stand by him at all times…"

"I will stand by him at all times…"

"And protect him…"

"And protect him…"

"Until my last breath has left my lips…"

"Until my last breath has left my lips…"

"And the last drop of my blood has been shed."

Hesitation flickered through the clear depths of Ludwig's eyes, but he continued automatically, forcing himself to ignore the unease bubbling in the pit of his stomach. "And the last drop of my blood has been shed."

"Good." Germania switched immediately to Italian, offering a rare smile and surprising the boys. "Serve him well, Germany."

"Yes sir."

"Ready, Feli?" Mr. Roma leaned over his grandson's shoulder, grinning kindly. "You're going to take your oath now."

"O-okay."

Placing a steadying hand on the boy's arm, the man spoke.

"I, state your name."

"I, Feliciano Roma-Vargas…"

"Swear to remain…"

"S-swear to remain…"

"At the side of…"

"At the side of…"

"State the name of your guard."

"Sta- I mean, Ludwig Beilschmidt."

Ludwig almost rolled his eyes.

"I will never needlessly deceive him…"

"I will never needlessly d-deceive him…"

"Or betray him in any way."

"Or betray him in any way."

"I will never doubt him…"

"I-I will… never doubt him…" Feliciano's attention was flagging.

"Even after his last breath has left his lips…"

"Even after his last breath has… has left his lips?"

"And the last drop of his blood has been shed."

"And the last drop of blood… his blood has been shed!"

Mr. Roma chuckled, playfully tousling the boy's hair. "A chip off the old block, eh, Germania?"

"Indeed." There was a hint of something akin to nostalgia in the man's voice as he nodded in agreement. "However, I believe _you_ had to restart your oath twice before you managed to say it correctly."

"Remind me to dock his play, Feli." He whispered to his grandson, an expression of mock injury upon his face. "The brute!"

Feliciano smiled at Ludwig, hoping to include him in the conversation. Instead, the blond simply drew back his hand and bowed.

"From this day forward, Italy, I will hold your life in my hands." His young face was solemn as he gazed into the brunet's wide, amber eyes. "I swear on my own life that I will never let any misfortune befall you."

"Th-thank you."

For a moment, the Italian could have sworn that he'd seen something – a glimmer of emotion – in the boy's eyes. It had vanished as quickly as it had appeared, making it impossible to classify. Perhaps it had been excitement, perhaps fear, or even sorrow. All Feliciano knew was that the icy, machine of a guard to whom he'd sworn alliance was capable of human emotion.

"Well, come on!" He laughed suddenly, snatching up Ludwig's hand. "There's a party out there for you!"

* * *

I'm sorry, a lot of this chapter was just repetition (oaths and whatnot).

After this, things speed up, I promise. However, I haven't the slightest idea of how often/frequently I'll be updating this story. I'm just writing it as it comes.

Again, thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 04: Eight Years Later

Chapter 04: Eight Years Later

A thirteen-year-old Ludwig stood attentively beside a smiling Feliciano, looking as though his foot had just been trodden upon. Elizabeta (otherwise known as Codename: Hungary) had taken the picture the night of the guard's welcome celebration amidst much gushing about just how adorable the pair looked in their fitted, black suits. Ludwig didn't believe her, but allowed her to carry on, knowing that Feliciano was enjoying the attention. For some reason, he liked it very much when the boy smiled. So much, in fact, that he would willingly risk life and limb to preserve his charge's happiness alone.

* * *

Ludwig stared down at the photo – the image already burned into his memory – feeling oddly sentimental. His first meeting with Feliciano had been eight years ago, and now they were both fully fledged adults. Returning the picture to its spot on his bedside table, he sighed, kneading at his eye socket with the heel of his hand.

In many ways, the duo hadn't changed a bit. Feliciano was just as bubbly and cheerful as before, counting on his faithful German watchdog to save him from even the most mundane situations. However, over the years Ludwig had become a towering death threat, his young brow furrowed from far too little relaxation. If a single day passed without the Italian getting himself into some ridiculous mess, it could be considered a miraculous work of some higher power.

"Germany…" There was a gentle sob as the summon drifted past the door that joined the two bedrooms. "Germany, please…"

Slowly, the guard stepped into his charge's room, quietly shutting the door behind him. Feliciano was sleeping, his cheeks glittering with tears as he clutched one of his several pillows to his chest. His bedclothes had been spun around him into a sort of cocoon, the rich green silk complementing his tanned complexion.

"Italy." He rested his hand on the brunet's bare shoulder, feeling guilty as his cool appendage drew out the heat of the other's flesh. "Wake up, you're having a nightmare."

Agony twisted the young man's features before he seemed to drag himself from the realm of dreams and into consciousness. Blinking sleepily, he fixed his confused gaze on his guard. Ludwig felt his muscles unclench, relaxing as he recognized his surroundings.

"Germany…"

"I apologize, Italy." He spoke in a low tone, hoping not to wake the other sleeping residents, "It seemed as though you were having a bad dream."

"The worst!" Feliciano whined, drawing his blankets up to his chin.

Ludwig removed his hand from his charge's shoulder, awkwardly tucking it into his pants pocket. "I see."

"I dreamt that you forgot who I was." He continued, sniffling pitifully, "A-and then, when this big nasty person came to kill me, you wouldn't even look at me!"

"That will never happen." The guard assured him, resting his hand shyly on the Italian's head. "I swore an oath, remember?"

Feliciano smiled sadly at him, wiping away the worst of his tears and snot. "I know, Germany. It was just a dream… right?"

"Right." Turning to leave, the German was stopped when a hand grabbed onto his shirttail.

"C-could you stay with me? Please?" His amber eyes were brimming with tears again, wide and childlike.

With a sigh, Ludwig nodded. Seating himself on the bed, he leaned tiredly against the carved headboard. If he closed his eyes, he could remember his first time spending the night in Feliciano's room: how sweaty his palms had been, how uneasy he'd felt, how embarrassing the whole situation had seemed. It felt as if all that had been so long ago – as if it had been another lifetime.

"Will you sing to me?" The Italian's voice was heavy with sleep as he turned to face his guard. "Please?"

After a moment of thought, Ludwig nodded. "What do you want me to sing?"

"Something in German." He drew nearer, cuddling up to the blond's side.

The man's deep, powerful voice filled the room as he recalled a lullaby from his childhood. The familiar words crept slowly from his lips, tugging gently at Feliciano's consciousness until, finally, his eyes drifted shut and he slept.

Once he was sure that his charge was asleep, Ludwig adjusted his blankets, making sure to cover as much of the young man's exposed flesh as possible. Then, settling down alongside him, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to fall into a light doze.

* * *

That morning, Ludwig awoke to the sound of whispers. He sprang from the bed, fully alert the moment his feet touched the ground.

Elizabeta was standing in the doorway, expression hard and tone distraught. "They're dead."

"Who?" He asked, though he knew the moment she spoke.

She looked at him with tears in her bright eyes, her lips trembling with emotion. "Rome and Germania have fallen. The civilizations are no more."

The blond's mouth went dry. Though he'd been taught from the beginning that everyone in his line of work died sooner or later, he couldn't ignore the jagged pain tearing through his chest. The man who had raised him, who had showed him everything he'd ever known, was dead. Ludwig swallowed.

"I suppose it's my duty to inform Italy."

* * *

Feliciano sat stonily on the bed, his knees drawn into his chest as his tortured gaze bored through the opposing wall. To be honest, the guard had expected the usual waterworks and theatrics, but it seemed as though the young man had instead settled into a state of muted shock. The silence was thick and buzzed dully in Ludwig's ears. He cleared his throat.

"With your leave, Italy," he spoke slowly in a strained tone, "I'll have Hungary bring up your breakfast."

"I'm not really hungry right now." Feliciano's voice was weak and, though it held the promise of tears, his eyes remained stubbornly dry.

The silence fell a second time.

Remembering what he had read on comforting others, Ludwig rested an unsure hand on his charge's shoulder. "It's all right to cry, you know. You don't have to be strong for me."

"It's not that." A flicker of a smile tugged at the boy's lips as he raised his head to look at his guard. "It's just… it feels like nothing's changed. I… I keep expecting to hear him laugh or start singing... to come up here and tell me that everything's okay." He shook his head in sorrowful disbelief. "I… I just can't believe it."

Ludwig nodded, carefully brushing away the tears as they began to fall. "Neither can I."

* * *

I'm sorry the updates on this story have been slow, but I'm determined to make this my masterpiece! (At this rate, I'll be in college before I finish -_-")

Thank you for reading, and I'll have the next chapter up before Christmas... hopefully! ^^;


	6. Chapter 05: A Funeral

Chapter 05: A Funeral

It was overcast on the day of the funeral, and the air was thick with misdirected irritation and impatience. As Ludwig drove out to the cathedral, the car was packed with nerves, like a rubber band about to snap.

Gilbert sat next to him in the passenger seat, drumming his pale fingers anxiously on the console. His expression was vacant, but his brother could read the turmoil in his bloodshot eyes.

In the back, Lovino Roma-Vargas was venting his bad mood on everyone in the car. He cussed at both bodyguards; told Ludwig to drive faster, then slower; slapped Feliciano across the face; and threatened to jump out of the vehicle into traffic. Feliciano simply stared out the window, eyes swollen from crying. It had been two days since they'd heard the news, but the young Italian had cried himself to sleep every night since.

When the car finally pulled into the church's parking lot, Lovino all but threw himself out the door and ran into the building. Shoving his sunglasses onto his face, Gilbert offered a half-hearted apology before exiting the sedan and dashing after his charge.

"Romano seems upset." Ludwig observed, backing slowly into an available parking space.

Feliciano nodded, massaging his stinging eyes. "He's been crying a lot ever since we found out… he just doesn't want anyone to know."

"I see."

The two of them watched as the estate van pulled into the drive, Vash yelling to someone in the back as he maneuvered through the parking lot. All of the workers had come, shutting down the entire mansion until the funeral was over; they wanted to pay their final respects to their boss, to the man who had given them so much in return for simple loyalty.

"Germany?" The Italian fidgeted, not meeting the man's steely gaze, "I was meaning to ask if… if you're okay."

This caught Ludwig off guard. "Me? Why?"

"Because, Germania… I mean, you're grandpa… he…"

"It doesn't matter."

The brunet's eyes grew wide, at the harshly-spoken words. "B-but…"

"He failed to do his job, Italy." He replied coldly, hating himself as he spoke, "The Roma household doesn't have room for failures."

And so he told himself repeatedly, struggling to lessen the blow of his loss. As he'd grown, Ludwig's grandfather had rewarded his efforts with quiet approval, had given him speeches that roused him and made him feel ready to take on the world. Though he hadn't been present for much of his grandson's childhood, Germania had made a point of checking in on him often. Even if they weren't related by blood, Ludwig felt that the man had truly cared for him. However, a Beilschmidt was to be emotionless at all times, and Ludwig would be damned if he disgraced his grandfather's memory with tears and useless bawling.

Feliciano stared at him for a long time. He was crying all over again, mouth curled into an indignant frown. "D-don't say that…"

Before the guard could respond, he continued.

"Don't say that! Germania was a really great guard! He was really strong and nice and smart... and he was always with _Nonno _when he needed him the most! You're just a… a _bastardo_!"

It was almost surreal to hear such a term coming from Feliciano's lips, and for a moment, he panted, as though cursing had stolen away his breath. With a final devastated look in the German's direction, he threw open the door and fled, leaving Ludwig to race after him.

* * *

Ludwig visually secured the cathedral, wondering if the architects had purposefully created as many nooks and crannies as possible. Between the hazardous pipe organ, and the countless alcoves dedicated to carefully sculpted statues of important religious figures, the old church was a sniper's dream come true. It was as though the building had been _designed _to allow assassinations. Even as he grumbled inwardly, the young man couldn't help but be impressed by the elaborate beauty of the building. This sort of architecture was fading into the past – not even the main mansion could match the cathedral in terms of elegance.

Steely blue eyes finally came to rest on the alter and the casket standing before it. Mr. Roma was smiling, a serene expression stretched across his artificially-rosy features, but it lacked any of the warmth or feeling it might have once held. He looked unnervingly empty.

Throughout his time at the Roma Estate, Ludwig had grown to like the man. Mr. Roma had been a loving grandfather and a good boss – he treated his employees as though they were all part of his own family. The guard remembered Feliciano's fourteenth birthday and the enormous party that had been thrown in honor of his charge. He and Mr. Roma had watched as the boy had cheerfully conversed with everyone, an enormous smile stretched across his face. Finally, the grandfather had turned to the blond with a questioning look on his face.

"Ludwig?"

"Sir?"

"When's your birthday?"

The young man hadn't responded, choosing to fix his attentions on the birthday boy once more.

"Ludwig?"

"I don't know."

A flicker of amusement danced across his lips, as his amber eyes narrowed. "So you don't celebrate your birthday? No wonder you're aging so quickly!"

Ludwig fixed him with an unimpressed glare. The man had simply laughed.

"You're your grandpa's boy through and through, you know that?" A friendly hand clapped him firmly on the back. "Tell you what… I don't know when your birthday is, either, but how about we give you one? You know, so Feli can feel like he's doing something for you once in awhile."

"What do you-?"

"He wants to throw you a party, make a cake… the works." He sighed happily, "My little boy's grown into such a generous young man."

The German had looked at him for a long time before finally he nodded. "Well, if… if it's for Italy's sake…"

"Of course, of course." Mr. Roma smiled. "Tell you what. My grandsons were born on the same day, four years apart, so how about if you share your birthday with your brother, too? Does January 18th sound all right to you?"

Though he didn't fully enjoy the idea of sharing _anything _with his brother, Ludwig had nodded in agreement. "It sounds just fine. Thank you, sir."

"What did I tell you about calling me 'sir'?" Mr. Roma had immediately gathered him into a headlock, playfully mussing his hair as he filled the night with rich laughter.

As though prompted by the memory, a stray lock of hair fell forward onto Ludwig's frequently creased forehead. Snorting in disbelief (and in an attempt to appear untouched by the passing events), he smoothed it back against his head. The German scolded himself sharply as his gaze fell back onto his charge; the last thing the Roma house needed was another death.

Feliciano was sitting two pews in front of him, eyes streaming and lips trembling. His brother sat beside him, looking angrily at the display as though he blamed his grandfather for what had happened. Even so, one would be hard pressed to miss the pain in his overflowing eyes. Gilbert stood nearby, his constantly searching gaze often getting caught up on the casket – more specifically on the plain black box at Mr. Roma's feet. In that box were the remains of his loyal bodyguard; the ashes of what had once been a living, breathing man. Ludwig looked away, gritting his teeth. It was as it had been done for generations: the Beilschmidt's ashes were to be buried with his charge and his name forgotten, worn away with time. Soon, no one would remember the strong man who had spoken little and smiled less, but had remained so faithful to the Roma family; no one had even bothered to remember his real name.

Tears stung at his blazing eyes as the guard forced himself to look away. He hated funerals.

* * *

The service had gone smoothly, the bodies were buried successfully, and all the remaining members of the Roma household returned home unscathed. It had been a fairly good day as far as a bodyguard would be concerned, however… Ludwig surveyed the stormy horizon, blue eyes flickering from the ominous clouds to the distant flashes of lightning. Indeed, a dangerous cast seemed to have fallen across the grounds of the estate itself.

Though it had been two days since the unfortunate incident, the guard had heard nothing of how the two men had lost their lives. No one had informed him of the situation, and this had placed Ludwig on edge. Preparation and knowledge were vital to someone such as himself – to be uninformed was to be putting your charge at risk. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel. When he returned to the estate, he would get the information he desired if he had to demand it at gunpoint.

To his left, Gilbert's cell phone vibrated in his coat pocket. After a quick glance at the wide touch screen, the albino cleared his throat.

"They found the will." He murmured in an undertone, addressing his brother. "Vash will-"

"Switzerland."

"Yeah," The man rolled his eyes behind the dark lenses of his sunglasses. "_Switzerland_ will read it when we get back."

"Prussia, what happened to them?" Ludwig's tone was urgent and edgy, his tongue darting out to wet his chapped lips.

"To who?"

"You mean, 'To whom?', and I mean Rome and Germania."

Gilbert kicked up his heels, resting them on the dashboard in a manner his brother despised. "I dunno."

The blond braked sharply as they approached a red light, send the older guard jerking forward in his seat. "_Bruder…_"

"You only call me that when you want something." The pale man grumbled, readjusting himself in his seat. "And I'm telling you, I don't know anything. No one'll tell me jack anymore."

"I'm surprised they told you anything in the first place."

"Shut up, West."

As the car paused beneath the traffic light, the guard glanced back to find his charge snoozing peacefully with his cheek pressed against the glass of the car door, fogging the window with each lazy breath. Beside him, Lovino was texting wildly, flushing and cursing at odd intervals. Had it not been for their black mourning gear, the brothers may have been returning from the cinema or a causal town outing; however, the mood held an anxious, worried quality that put the Germans ill at ease. It was as though something drastic was about to happen, something that no one in the car could even guess at. The light turned green. Ludwig turned around and carefully accelerated.

* * *

* Though it might seem that Ludwig's more upset about the death of Mr. Roma, it may be because he knew him better. Germania actually had very little to do with his grandson's upbringing seeing as he was effectively guarding Mr. Roma, Lovino, and Feliciano. On his days off, he did check in quite a bit with Ludwig's mentors (to be revealed later) to make sure he was doing well. He didn't, however, show the same concern for Gilbert. Perhaps he figured that Gilbert would make it through without an issue.

I'm really sorry about the delay... it's been chaotic. ^^;


	7. Chapter 06: A Will

Chapter 06: A Will

Ludwig handed Feliciano a fresh ice pack, worriedly examining the swollen eye.

"I'm fine, Germany. Really." The young man was insisting. However, the guard could hear the hurt in his voice. Over the years, Lovino had often slapped or cuffed him in irritation, but tonight marked the first time he'd ever seriously intended to injure his younger brother.

"Is your vision all right, Italy?"

Feliciano nodded. Pressing the ice to his face, the brunet winced. "It only hurts a little bit.

* * *

Lovino swore viciously, cursing his grandfather to the devil's door and back. Of course he'd leave _everything _to his useless little brother. _Everything._ Tears spilled down his face as he plunged his fist into one of his couch cushions. He hadn't been left so much as a sports car.

Just the thought of Feliciano thoughtlessly squandering his new fortune with his nasty German bodyguard in tow was enough to make Lovino's insides squirm. _He _was a Roma-Vargas, too. _He _had loved his Grandfather, too. _He _was just as good as his Goddamn baby brother – it wasn't his fault no one ever noticed. Rage scalded at his stomach, twisting violently and taking shape as an overpowering loathing. He still had a few days before he had to leave the estate; that was plenty of time to gain his rightful inheritance. A mad smirk fixed itself onto Lovino's lips, bringing with it a dark chuckle. His brother and his brain-dead guard would pay, that much was certain.

* * *

As he laid beside Feliciano that night, Ludwig's mind ran in restless circles as he struggled to piece together what was happening.

Vash had been waiting for them when they'd arrived home, a pair of severe-looking reading glasses perched on his nose and a letter clutched urgently in his hand.

"Sit."

All four had complied immediately, taking their places at the dining room table.

The words had been fired from the thin, impatient lips of Vash Zwingli as his sharp, green eyes skimmed the document. He read like a machine, ignoring the reactions of the listeners and offering no reaction of his own. It occurred to Ludwig that he had probably drafted the will with Mr. Roma in the first place, but even then, the requests were dramatic and unexpected.

"I bequeath the whole of my estate, property and effects, whether movable or immovable, wheresoever situated and of whatsoever nature to my grandson, Feliciano Roma-Vargas, provided that he leaves the main mansion in one week's time and exiles himself from Italy for as long as he shall live."

Ludwig felt Lovino's resentment simmering beneath a red-hued mask of fury. His younger brother, the favorite of all who met him, had snatched away the entire inheritance without leaving him so much as a dime. The guard shifted, knowing that it was only a matter of time before-

The elder Roma-Vargas' hand flashed out to strike Feliciano, and before the blond could stop it, he was tackled by his _own _brother who was protecting _his _charge. The Beilschmidts rolled around for a bit, exchanging nearly lethal blows that would've surely stunned any lesser opponent, before a gunshot broke the chaos. The heir promptly burst into tears and Lovino fled, howling curse words as Gilbert quickly scrambled after him.

Vash simply cleared his through, holstered his weapon, and continued to read.

Feliciano was to move to America, settle down in whichever state pleased him, and to live for the rest of his life in a manner he saw fit, so long as he never returned to Europe. The employees of the main mansion would be relieved of their duties and were to return to their countries of origin by the end of the week. Lovino was only mentioned in passing in that he and his guard, Gilbert Beilschmidt, were to remain in close contact until the event of one of their deaths.

The unease in the pit of Ludwig's stomach grew as each sentence was read. Mr. Roma had been murdered, that much was obvious, and whoever had killed him was presumably after his grandsons as well. In the guard's highly efficient brain, he sorted out the possible culprits: rival businessmen, old family foes, and… He chewed thoughtfully at his lower lip as he distantly observed his charge's renewed fit of grief. Perhaps Mr. Roma had trodden on the toes of someone powerful and lethal… someone involved in an underground organization? Someone like a Mafia boss?

The guard shook his head, almost chuckling at his own paranoia. It was normal for wealthy individuals to have lots of enemies, murderous enemies in search of stuffing their own pockets. There was no evidence to suggest that the Mafia was involved… Ludwig's eyes narrowed, glancing out the window and across the sunny landscaping. _Yet._

_

* * *

_

Hey everyone, sorry for the delay once again...

I promise that I'll have the next chapter up within the week... and it will be at least a page longer. Please hang tight! *bows*


	8. Chapter 07: An Assassination Attempt

Chapter 07: An Assassination Attempt

The rifle grew warm against his cheek, leeching the heat from his tired flesh. It had been hours since he'd moved, and it would probably be even longer until he would be clear to move again. Only after his target was eliminated would he be free to leave his perch.

Without moving his head, the assassin-to-be took in his surroundings. Almost directly beneath him was the gardener, a sunny-looking youth who sang to himself as he weeded. Piano music was heavy in the air, spilling from the open window on the third floor. Normally, the sniper would've enjoyed the skill and grace of the musician, but now it ground on his nerves.

When he'd first arrived on the grounds, it had been dark – the sun barely visible over the dark horizon. Now the sun was high and cicadas were singing in the trees. A bead of sweat rolled off his brow and blinded him momentarily. Blinking in irritation, he managed to clear his sight just in time to see the heavy, wooden door creak open.

Through his scope, the sniper caught sight of a powerful-looking blonde who sent a roving glance across the estate before allowing a smaller man to exit the manor. The short brunette was instantly recognized by the hidden assassin as Feliciano Vargas, heir to the Roma fortune. A predatory smirk stretched across the man's lips as his finger fell onto the trigger – it was almost too easy.

* * *

"Germany, you don't have to open the door for me," the heir was giggling, "I can do it myself."

"Of course, Italy." Ludwig nodded, knowing that he would have to disregard this statement to ensure the young man's safety. His charge didn't seem to realize the risk, especially now that he'd been named the sole heir of the Roma fortune. Surely at least one person in the world had set his sights on the young man's head.

Suddenly, the Italian froze, gazing ruefully down at his handmade, leather shoes. His bodyguard sighed – the sooner Feliciano learned to tie his shoes, the better for him. Dropping to his knee, the blonde began to lace up the dress shoe when a chill rattled down his spine. Something was wrong…

Ludwig stood suddenly, just in time to hear the silenced report of a sniper rifle. He grunted as pain flared between his shoulder blades, but he forced himself to ignore it in favor of drawing his handgun from its holster and returning fire. A sharp yell followed the shots as a figure crashed to the ground from a tree thirty meters from the main entrance, blood spilling from its side.

"Italy! Stay behind me!" The order was quickly heeded by the frightened heir.

Weapon still aimed at the injured sniper, Ludwig slowly approached. He scowled, pulling together all the menace he could muster.

"Who are you?"

The man groaned, rolling on to his back to reveal his young, unmistakenably Asian features. "Don't shoot."

"I will if you don't tell me what I need to know." Recognizing the language as Korean, the bodyguard adopted the tongue, eyes burning a frigid blue that lacked any human warmth.

The sniper's olive skin was pale, and his raven locks were plastered to his sweaty forehead. Fear danced in his dark gaze, but he said nothing. Ludwig's finger tightened on the trigger.

"Oy, _Alemania_! What've you got there?" Antonio, the gardener, swept over to assess the situation, a basket of tomatoes tucked under his arm.

"Spain," the blonde growled, carefully eyeing the approaching employee. "Stay back!"

"Germany!"

His charge's voice pulled his attention back to where the would-be assassin had lain. The teenager had used the distraction as a chance to escape. Ludwig cussed violently; he hadn't left so much as a blood trail even in his haste. Despite his young age, the hitman had been a professional, possibly linked to some foreign triad. The bodyguard reholstered his weapon, barely resisting the urge to fire into the expanse of forest that bordered the southern edge of the property.

"Germany, are you all right?" Feliciano was asking, clinging to the front of his shirt, "He hit you, didn't he?"

"It wasn't serious," was the curt reply. "The vest stopped it."

"W-well that's good, right?" His charge's large, amber eyes seemed to beg him for a positive response. Ludwig' heaved a sigh.

"Of course it is, Italy."

"Germany! Italy!" Roderich and Elizaveta were charging across the lawn towards them, the latter carrying with her a large semi-automatic. Upon seeing the two young men largely unharmed, the couple slowed.

"Spain!" The Austrian whirled, sharply addressing the gardener. "What happened here?"

Antonio looked uncomfortable and shifted his hold on the basket of produce in his hands. "Well, there was an assassination attempt just now, wasn't there?"

Roderich rolled his eyes, then narrowed them impatiently. "Obviously. What I'm asking is what the hitman looked like, and whether or not you could guess with whom he was affiliated."

"Excuse me," Ludwig scowled, entering the conversation with a forceful tone. "Would either of you like to explain what the _hell_ is going on? My charge was almost _killed _just now, and I'd like to know as to why neither of you are asking _me _for the details."

Both men seemed to shrink under the Beilschmidt's wicked glare, but neither spoke.

Frustration reaching a boiling point, the guard rounded on Elizaveta who was speaking gently to the still-trembling Feliciano. Finally, she looked up at him, a strange weight in her bright, green eyes.

"What the _hell_ going on?"

* * *

The short man tapped his foot impatiently as he awaited the report. Yong Soo was late, a fact for which he would pay dearly. Finally, he stood, pacing the room.

Yong Soo burst through the door, collapsing to his knees before his boss.

"Yao _hyung_!" The Korean's voice broke the tense silence, a note of panic coloring his words. "Please forgive me!"

The man looked down at the suffering man in disgust, wanting badly to kick him over and shoot him until his brains were splattered across the tiles of the floor. Instead he sighed.

"What happened, Im?"

"The bodyguard… not human!" Yong Soo's pupils dilated in fear as he recalled the man. "Sensed my shot… blocked the target… didn't even stumble…" He babbled in broken Chinese, slipping in and out of his mother tongue.

"We knew from the start that he'd be tricky." The shorter man turned and returned to his seat. Reclining comfortably, he rested his narrow chin on his fist, amber eyes glinting dangerously. "So I needed you to test the waters for me."

"Y-you mean…?"

"You were only a test dummy." A cruel smirk played on his thin lips. "Perfectly expendable."

It was hard to tell if the look of agony on the subordinate's face was from his wound or from this new discovery. He choked back a sob, guarding it with gritted teeth.

"Yao _hyung_… I hate you."

A smooth click echoed in the empty room as Yong Soo found himself staring down the barrel of a small handgun.

"Such disrespect! I thought Koreans honored their elders." Yao's laughter was cold and mirthless.

"You aren't my elder!" He struggled to his feet, a pistol in his hand before the other could register its presence. Under the weight of the weapon, the young man trembled. Yao had raised him, taught him everything he'd ever known, and now he had called him expendable. He'd been nothing but a pawn in his boss' plan.

"You're a thousand years too young to kill me." The man scolded, finger on the trigger. "You aren't useful anymore, Yong Soo. _Y__on bie._"

* * *

Ludwig gaped at the Austrian in shock, a sentiment he didn't often experience. "So…"

"So, no one has had any knowledge of the brothers prior to today." Roderich finished, fixing Feliciano with a meaningful look.

"But the passports… credit cards…"

"Specially arranged by Switzerland. Their grandfather's family name was easily eliminated."

"Not even the tabloids?"

It was a weak question. The brunet simply shook his head, tightening his lips in such a way that he seemed to be calling Ludwig an idiot.

"Of course not."

Finally, Feliciano spoke up. "Why?"

Elizaveta glanced almost nervously at her husband before letting out a gentle sigh. "Italy, sweetie, Ro- I mean, your grandfather was a great man…"

"I know that." His smile was unnatural and strained. "But wh-?"

"He was also the head of the Italian Mafia."

Ludwig laughed. He knew he shouldn't have, but he couldn't help it. Mr. Roma – the kind of man who cried during _Titanic _every time he watched it – couldn't have been a Mafia Don. He was too kind, too loving, too, well, _Roma_.

After a few tense moments, the guard realized that no one else was laughing. Roderich was glaring at him, and Elizaveta was nervously toying with her hair. And then it struck him – they were serious.

"Mr. Roma," He spoke slowly, carefully observing the married couple, "as in the man who owned this house, was the head of the Italian Mafia?"

"Yes."

* * *

So many questions~ Fear not, answers will be revealed!

Yes, Germany stopped a bullet without even looking. "A Beilschmidt bodyguard who can't do this isn't worth his salt~" (Just kidding, but I've been wanting to say that for_ever_!)

_hyung _- elder brother (as spoken by a male) in Korean (Of course, any of you who read manhwa already know this, don't you?)

_Yon bie - _Farewell in Chinese. Thank you to everyone who helped me fix this!


	9. Chapter 08: Betrayal

Chapter 08: Betrayal

Feliciano hugged his knees to his chest, feeling as though everything inside of him had been torn out and thrown down a gutter somewhere. Nearly everything he thought he'd known was a lie. His grandfather hadn't been a businessman, but a mob boss. Elizaveta, the woman who had acted as a surrogate mother to him, was a hired gun. Roderich, Vash, Francis, Antonio… they were all a part of his grandfather's shadowy profession, scouted for their skill and brought to serve at the mansion.

The only person who was more surprised than himself was Ludwig. The guard had been staring off into space for nearly half an hour, and showed no sign of letting up any time soon. Feliciano wondered if Lovino knew, if Gilbert knew. He wondered if anyone outside the mansion could recognize him at all – Ludwig had always driven him to different towns to see movies or find restaurants. Now he knew why. No one outside of the mansion knew him for who he was. Within the walls of his grandfather's estate, he was Italy Veneziano, but outside, in the real world, he was just Feliciano Vargas – a nobody. Somehow, it frightened him. All his life he'd been given just about anything he'd asked for, but now… now he was trapped in a world in which he wasn't who he thought he'd been. He was just _Feliciano_.

It was unconceivable, but no matter how many times he reviewed the incident, Ludwig was forced to assume that Antonio Carriedo was working with the Asian assassin. Antonio, the gentle, kind-hearted gardener, wanted Feliciano dead.

* * *

The bodyguard pieced together motives as he watched his charge sulk, resting his narrow chin on his knees. He _did_ know that the Spaniard was infatuated with Lovino, Feliciano's older brother, who'd been forgotten in their grandfather's will. Obviously the man thought that if the younger Roma-Vargas was eliminated, Lovino would come into possession of the estate. Perhaps the whole situation was merely Antonio's misguided attempt to pass the inheritance to his beloved. If that was indeed the case, the bodyguard could put his mind at ease. The assassination attempt didn't necessarily mean that there was a price on his charge's head.

"Germany?"

Ludwig's head snapped around, instantly giving the Italian his full attention. "What is it, Italy?"

"I'm scared."

"I know."

His lips tightened for a moment, trembling slightly as he pulled them apart. "Germany?"

"Yes?"

"I… I'm sorry I called you a bastard. I didn't mean it."

"I know." The guard awkwardly took Feliciano's hand in his own, squeezing the soft, slender appendage gently in an attempt to comfort him. He squeezed back, eyes distant and wet.

"Germany?"

"Yes?"

"You'll stay with me, r-right?"

The hitch in his voice was barely audible, but Ludwig could _feel _his sorrow. The young heir shivered, head bowed and hands clasped to his chest, as though holding his aching heart in place.

"P-please don't leave me…"

"Italy, I-"

Feliciano threw his arms around the blond, sobbing openly into his broad chest. Even as his tears and snot grimed the front of Ludwig's suit coat, the guard said nothing. He simply rested a hand on his auburn head and let him cry.

* * *

"Spain? That's absurd." Roderich glared officiously up at the bodyguard. "He swore an oath of loyalty to the Roma house just like every other employee here. In fact, he's rather fond of the Italy brothers… too fond, if you ask me."

"I know that, Austria, but what if this whole thing was just him trying-"

"To award Romano sole possession of the estate? Rome wasn't a fool, Germany. If you had been listening yesterday, you would have heard that, should Veneziano meet an early death, the money goes to charity. All of it. Romano wouldn't receive anything either way."

"Why is that?" Ludwig asked suddenly, "Why was Rome so determined to leave Romano out of his Will? I mean, he _is _technically the eldest."

The Austrian's indigo eyes narrowed. "I'm sure he had a good reason."

"Austria," The guard loomed forward, grabbing the man by the lapels and pulling him in. "If you know something and you're not telling me, you're putting Italy at risk. Now, I suggest that you tell me before my fist becomes acquainted with your teeth."

Roderich flinched, but continued to fix the blond with an icy look. Ludwig could feel his apprehension, feel the information dancing nervously on his lips.

"Germany, your barbaric method of interrogation is a disgrace to the Beilschmidt title."

"Do you know what's a disgrace?" His voice was lowered to a guttural snarl as he glowered down at the musician. "A man who can't keep his oaths."

He sputtered angrily, "What are you implying?"

"If you were keeping your oath of loyalty to the Roma household, you wouldn't be keeping information from the heir's bodyguard, would you, _Austria_?" The country's name was filled with scorn as it left the man's pale lips.

"I have my orders."

Ludwig's steely blue eyes bored into his. "And I have mine."

"Rome hadn't chosen an heir."

A new voice shattered the tension, drawing the attention of both men to the woman who had just entered the room. Elizaveta's gaze was trained on Ludwig, and she was clearly speaking to him.

"What do you mean? He left everything to-"

"He didn't want his grandsons involved in the… family business, so he hadn't chosen an heir to lead the Mafia after he died."

"Oh." He'd almost forgotten about that. "Why didn't he-?"

"Why didn't he want his grandsons carrying on his legacy?" A grim smile flickered across her face as she unflinchingly met the Beilschmidt's gaze. "Probably because he wanted them to grow up on the proper side of the law. Roma was very dangerous, true, but he was also very human. He knew how power worked."

"Hungary…" Roderich warned, eyes flashing. She ignored him.

"It's a tough world out there. If Italy had gotten involved, he would've gotten himself shot somewhere by now… no offense." She added after a moment. Ludwig simply nodded, urging her to continue. "And Romano… he told me once that Romano reminded him a lot of himself: quick to pick fights and good with the ladies. Maybe his leaving his fortune to Italy was his way of protecting Romano from what he saw as a danger. I don't think he wanted him to make the same mistakes he did."

"Romano reminded him of himself?"

Elizaveta nodded. "There are all sorts of horror stories about Rome when he was young. He abused his power in every way that he could, just because he could. He fought loads of people, killed loads of people, and slept with loads of people… it was just how it went."

"I… I don't believe it."

"Well, life isn't always what it seems." Roderich spoke up sharply, casting a nasty look in his wife's direction. "I think we're done here."

Ludwig nodded, mulling everything over carefully in his head. "Right, I apologize for the disturbance."

"No worries." The woman smiled kindly, completely disregarding her less-than-pleased spouse. "Just keep Italy safe for us, Germany. We're counting on you."

* * *

"You bastard!" Lovino raged, face red with fury. "I told you not to get involved; you should've just let that worthless sniper die. That bastard potato's probably figured it all out by now!"

Antonio's shoulders slouched as he willingly accepted the stinging criticism of his beloved.

"Damn you! _Bastardo! Sei stupido?_"

"_Lo siento, mi tomatito. __Perdoname, por favor._" A calloused hand gripped Lovino's, pressing gentle lips to the back of it. The Italian froze, the fire blazing in his eyes giving way to a reluctant contentment.

"You're still a bastard."

"Of course."

From across the room, Lovino's bodyguard pretended to gag. His charge whirled to glare daggers at him, sticking out his tongue like a child. In response, the albino mirrored his action.

"Don't think I've forgotten you, jackass. You're that Kraut's stupid, beer-brained brother."

Gilbert chuckled, lowering his darkened glasses to peer at the brunets. "Don't confuse me with West. I'm way cooler, after all."

* * *

*dramatic music* The plot thickens!

_Lo siento, mi tomatito. __Perdoname, por favor. _I'm sorry, my little tomato. Please forgive me.

As always, if I'm wrong, please correct me. ^^;


	10. Chapter 09: Guard and Heir

A quick note to avoid confusion: This chapter is flashing back to the event that ultimately ended with Germania and Rome's death, then returns to the present with Germany and Italy.

* * *

Chapter 09: Guard and Heir

"Odoacer?" Romulus looked up from his book of philosophy, amber eyes clouded with deep thought, "Odoacer, can I ask you a question?"

"Anything, sir." The teenaged guard sat stiffly in the armchair across from that of his charge.

"D'you think there's a reason I was born? I mean, born into this family?"

Odoacer paused before nodding. "Of course there is."

"Then what is it?"

"To honor those who have come before you and to provide for those who will follow."

A pleased grin graced the young man's lips as he tossed the book to the floor.

"You Beilschmidts and your code of honor, eh?" There was a sort of sadness, a sort of guilt in his eyes as he spoke. "Live by the rules, die by the rules. It's always like that with you."

The blond said nothing, but his thin lips tightened.

"You're a good guy, Odoacer, never forget that." Romulus threw his legs over the arm of the chair, lounging comfortably. "You and me, we'll rule the world someday."

* * *

The absolute silence of the evening was cleaved in two as a gunshot rang out, falling heavy across those who heard it. As though in response, several other shots – higher in pitch and number – clattered against the clear night sky. There was a shout, angry words, and the echo of fleeing feet striking the cold concrete. One last gunshot halted the runner in midstride, sending him dropping emptily to the ground.

"Rome," the Beilschmidt was kneeling beside him in an instant, pressing urgently against the bullet hole in his abdomen. "Rome, are you conscious?"

Mr. Roma simply smiled up at him, face splattered with his own blood. "Ah, I'm sorry, Germania… I guess I missed him, huh?"

"Don't talk. You'll waste your energy." The man's face was just as emotionless as it had been the day they'd met, but there was panic in his deep gaze.

"Go on, shoot that son of a bitch for me."

"I did, now stop talking."

An impatient, yet teasing, grimace crossed the don's face. With shuddering hands, he pulled the guard's gun hand forward and placed the pistol's barrel against his forehead.

"Romulus…" The turmoil in his eyes had leaked across his face as he struggled halfheartedly against Mr. Roma, against his charge. "Don't…"

"It's been too long, Odoacer. I'm tired, old, and sick to death of this fighting." A finger was tapping eagerly against the blond's trigger finger. "It's time to end it, old friend."

They pulled the trigger.

The Beilschmidt wasn't able to hear the gunshot. He barely felt the fresh spray of blood against his face, the raw cry inching up his throat like bile. "Romulus!"

Tears burning stubbornly at his eyes, the bodyguard rose to his feet, knees creaking as he did. He marched stiffly to the body of the enemy gunman, observing with distaste the messy hole in the back of his head. Slipping a black leather-clad foot beneath the body, he flipped it over, sharp green eyes studying the face. He was Eastern European… Russian, if the Beilschmidt had to guess. With a rush of rage and loss, he buried his heel in the corpse's face. Again and again, he repeated the action, letting his emotions get the best of him. His charge was dead. _He_ was (essentially) dead. There was no one to stop him.

Finally he stopped, rationality winning out. Wiping his bloodied shoe on the dead man's shirt, the German addressed him coldly, the harsh Russian words stinging from his tongue.

"You killed my best friend, you lowlife bastard. What did he ever do to deserve _this_? He was born into the wrong family. Unlike you. You joined for glory, money, protection… He was a real man, not a sniveling bitch like you. God damn you and your boss whoever the ass-licker might be. If you whores were looking for a war, you have found one." He spat unceremoniously onto what had once been the man's face. "The Roma family… the Italian Mafia… they will never forget."

For a moment, the wreck of the gunman seemed to sigh. The guard saw him purse his lips, murmuring softly, "Prepare for war. Your most precious relations? Consider them dead."

He blinked. He blinked and all that was left were two corpses and himself.

"Our grandsons are strong. They will not fall." Germania set the gun to his head and pulled the trigger.

* * *

Feliciano didn't look up as his guard entered the bedroom. The German sighed softly, busily preparing the bed and drawing the curtains shut. Only when the room had gone dark did the heir speak.

"Switzerland gave me his journals."

It was silently understood as he spoke to whom the journals had belonged. Rome. Ludwig bobbed his head in distracted compliance.

"He said that he loved him like a brother."

This time he was speaking of Germania.

"He gave him that name for a reason, Germany."

The guard swallowed dryly, asking the question his charge wanted to hear. "Why?"

"He said, 'Using my own ingenious codename system, I will be dubbed the Roman Empire (though it would seem that my family name decided it for me) and Odoacer, Germania. This way it is understood: I rest my life in his hands and, should he decide it necessary, he has license to take it."'

Feliciano sighed softly, almost with relief, as he closed the leather-bound notebook.

"His name was Odoacer." Ludwig said finally, more to himself than to his charge. "I… I never knew."

* * *

*is shot for a short chapter* I'm really sorry about this, writing all of this violence and angst and then leaving it hanging... If I didn't cut it off here, it doesn't flow. Fear not, however, for the next chapter is on its way! Eventually...

Notes:

Odoacer was the name of the Germanic leader who killed the Roman Emperor and effectively ended the Roman Empire. Romulus is just the name a lot of other writers are using for Rome, so I figured it wouldn't hurt to use it as well.

Rome was the one who developed the codename system (as he wrote about it in his journals - which will be coming in handy, I believe), so he and Germania didn't always call each other by their country names.

Bad Pun Alert - if you say the name of this chapter too quickly, it sounds like "Garden Air"

I hate to sound like this, but please review. I'm anxious to know how this fic is being received so that I'll know how to improve it.


	11. Chapter 10: Bullets

Please don't expect such speedy updates all the time... I've just been in one of those moods as of late~

* * *

Chapter 10: Bullets

Gilbert fidgeted, back pressed up against the cool metal of a street lamp. A few meters away, Lovino was standing with his back to a wall, fists jammed into his pants pockets and shoulders slumped forward. No one had approached him yet, and the appointed time was close at hand. The guard consulted his watch again. Five minutes to the hour… five minutes until some Triad goon would waltz up to his charge and demand some sort of payment. Gilbert spat. Sometimes he hated his job.

"It's fucking cold out here," Lovino was whining, drawing his leg up to rest his foot against the graffiti-covered wall. "When's the bastard gonna show?"

"Quit bitching," the German growled, not in the mood to deal with his charge's constant stream of complaints. Many a day had passed in which he'd wondered if his brother would ever consider swapping Italians. Feliciano was cute and sweet and probably didn't go on extensive cursing fits in which he explained in morbid detail exactly how he would disembowel and further desecrate anyone who got in his way. Luckily for him, Lovino's bark was far worse than his bite, in fact, the guy fought like a Girl Scout.

At the top of the street, a shadowy figure emerged from the smog and headed their direction. Its gait was loose and agile, the walk of a trained martial artist. Gilbert's hand rested on his weapon, fingers twitching with the anticipation of using it.

"_Nihao, _are you Lovino Roma-Vargas?" The man couldn't have been more than five feet tall, but he carried an unmistakable air of authority.

"Yeah," Lovino pulled himself away from the wall and stalked closer to the newcomer, "Who the hell wants to know?"

The guard slipped closer, curses lined up behind his teeth. They hadn't given the Triad his real name, yet this man seemed to know exactly who the Italian was. This was bad.

"The man you owe money."

"I don't owe you jack shit." The brunet scowled. "I'll pay you went my goddamn brother gets wasted, capiche?"

A dangerous smile slipped across the man's lips as he studied his client's face. "You don't know who you are, do you?"

"What the hell is _that _supposed to mean?"

"All I'm saying is that if you had any idea of how important you were, you wouldn't be risking your fool head on my streets."

Lovino's face turned an impressive shade of crimson. "Did you just call me a fool?"

"And what if I did, Signore Mafia Don?"

"Mafia Don? What the fuck are you talking about?"

The man merely shook his head. "I couldn't possibly say."

"Then get lost." Gilbert pressed his gun against the man's temple, hissing into his ear. "We don't have time for small fry, Jackie Chan."

With one fluid motion, the pistol flew from the albino's hand and clattered onto the asphalt ten meters away. The guard let out a fierce cry before thrusting his elbow down at his opponent, dropping all of his body weight with it. The man blocked the attack easily, side stepping and returning a sharp kick. Gilbert turned into the kick and slipped behind, wrapping him in a choke hold.

"Like I said," he panted, "no time for small fry."

Then he felt the cold metal of a gun pressed between his shoulder blades. Gilbert swore.

* * *

The soft echo of shouting roused Ludwig from his sleep. Beside him, his charge stirred, drawing the blankets closer around his naked body. The guard looked away sharply. Would he never learn to wear pajamas?

Getting carefully to his feet, he crept to the door and peered out into the hallway. Elizaveta and Antonio were talking quietly together, the latter looking somewhat upset. The German sighed, breath hissing through his clenched teeth, and shouldered the door open.

"Spain, Hungary, what's the matter?"

The gardener's head snapped around, green eyes wide with panic. He fidgeted. "Romano's missing… and your brother."

"Where are they?" His glacial, battle-hardened gaze bore down on the nervous man. Sweat rolled down his tanned neck, disappearing past the collar of his dirt-stained work shirt.

"He's in Rome making an exchange with the Chinese Triad." Antonio breathed finally, words tumbling from his lips in their eagerness to reveal themselves.

"God damn… _he _was the one behind…" Ludwig bit off the end of his own sentence, casting a disgusted look down the nearly empty corridor.

The Spaniard nodded, looking ashamed of himself. "Please, Germany… I know I don't deserve your forgiveness, but please… please help Romano."

"He's got my…" He paused, searching for an insult powerful enough to convey his frustration but coming up empty handed. "My… _idiot _brother with him. I'm sure he'll be fine."

Elizaveta bit her lip.

At that moment, there was a commotion at the main entrance. Vash was yelling something indignantly as the door swung open, apparently kicked by an especially peeved-looking Gilbert who was carrying his unconscious charge on his back.

As the three in the hallway raced to the balcony, the albino bellowed, "For the love of all that is good and holy, Switzerland, _shut up_!"

Vash's face burned scarlet with anger. Without another word, he spun sharply on his heel and stalked out of the mansion, slamming the door behind him.

"Can I get some goddamn medical attention down here?" The guard was calling, eyes on his spectators. "I'm bleedin' out down here, and all you losers are gaping at me like you've got your heads up your asses!"

It was then that Ludwig registered the blood staining his brother's once-spotless dress shirt, spreading from what appeared to be his left shoulder. Exchanging a quick look with Elizaveta, he hurried off to locate a first aid kit as she rushed to his brother's side.

"G-Germany?" The heir stumbled from his bedroom, one of Ludwig's shirts draped over his thin shoulders as means of covering himself. "Germany, what's going-"

"I'll tell you later, Italy." He spat, wrapping an arm protectively around his charge as he continued down the hall. "But now I've got to go patch up my brother's bullet wound."

Feliciano latched onto the larger man, eyes already tearing up. "Prussia was shot? But why?"

"I don't know." Ludwig sighed, barely noticing as he hauled Feliciano down the stairs. "But I'm going to find out very soon."

* * *

"Jesus! Careful, West!" The albino swore loudly, squirming indignantly against the Italian sitting on his chest. "What the fuck'd you pour on it? Acid?"

Ludwig didn't respond, instead opting to direct his full attention to the wound in his brother's shoulder.

"I think he's cleaning it." Feliciano responded from his perch, shifting his weight and making Gilbert groan. "Ew, I can see it foaming…"

The blond barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Sometimes he couldn't decide who was more immature: his brother or Feliciano. It was a close call.

"Why are you sitting on me, anyway?" Gilbert was asking, forcing the words through gritted teeth.

"To keep you from flailing about like an idiot." His brother answered for the brunet, skillfully dressing the bullet hole. Satisfied with his own handiwork, he rose to his feet.

"Is Romano okay?" The guard asked, wincing as he was helped to a sitting position. Ludwig shrugged.

"Spain's watching him." He replied before adding, "And, right now, I think he would personally murder anyone who tried to hurt him."

Gilbert let out a sigh of relief. "Awesome."

"Well, then, _bruder._" Blue eyes narrowed dangerously as he bore down on his elder brother. "You are going to tell me exactly what's going on… _now._"

"Or what?" It was more of a grimace than a flippant remark.

"Or I might just add a few more bullet wounds to your collection."

The albino sighed heavily, looking rather weary. "Fine."

* * *

It would appear that I've been extremely motivated to write as of late. Eat your veggies, kids, they'll help you write fanfiction! (Okay, maybe not...)

Chaos is reigning right now, and - seeing as no one was actually previously aware the insanely rich and influential Roma-Vargas brothers - all hell is about break loose.


	12. Chapter 11: Two Informants

Chapter 11: Two Informants

He had always been among the tallest of his peers, shoulders thrown back with pride as he towered above the dark-haired masses. However, this man was completely different. He was a monster, far taller and broader than any person Yong Soo had ever before encountered. To his left, a deadly-looking (albeit beautiful) woman was pointedly caressing a large knife, her delicate fingers teasing the razor sharp edge. He could tell that she had used it before, and that she would have no reservations in using again. A shiver crept quietly down his spine, quickly hidden by a smooth, professional smile.

"Greetings."

"And you."

They had agreed upon speaking English, neither being fluent in the other's native tongue, and the light accents seemed to suggest the speakers' decidedly sinister dealings. They studied each other closely, both giving off a carefree air that barely extended past the surface. Opposing grips tightened on concealed weapons even as plastic grins stretched across their lips.

"Why have you called me here, Comrade?" The monster man was asking. He had the innocent face of a child, but his deep, violet-colored eyes were cold and venomous. Yong Soo felt his heart skip a beat as those eyes narrowed slightly, as though searching for his intentions. A genuine smirk crept across his lips.

"I thought you might like to purchase a useful… tidbit of information." He released his hold on the gun and stuck the hand into his pocket, knowing full well that he had placed himself at the mercy of the larger boss.

"Information concerning…?" The man's voice was light and flitting, but an ominous, throaty note edged his speech as playful curiosity danced in his purple gaze.

"The late head of the Italian Mafia."

"Oh?" There was a breathy giggle woven into slight noise. "But we would know nothing of that, yes?"

Yong Soo turned sharply on his heel, presenting the Russian with his back. "But you don't."

The young woman glanced fiercely at her boss as she readied the blade for use. Instead, he waved a hand, signaling for her to wait.

"Don't I?"

Winking cheerfully over his shoulder, the dark-haired teenager swung his weight back onto his heels. "Not yet, anyway."

Ivan hummed thoughtfully, amused by the Korean's boldness. Surely the boy understood that, should the information be faulty, he was as good as dead. However, he seemed to be carrying no death wish, rather, his icy gaze held the rage of one who has been recently thrown into the swirling abyss of betrayal. One could still see the traces of pain and humiliation hidden in the dark circles beneath his chaotic eyes. Interesting. Very interesting indeed.

"How much are you asking?"

"500 K."

Again the man hummed, amethyst orbs snapping in irritation. "This must be an impressive 'tidbit' of information, yes?"

A vindictive grin tugged at Yong Soo's lips. "It's the tip of a lifetime."

* * *

"Look, Romano's a bitchy little shit, but he's not a bad kid. Really. Imagine spending your whole life watching everyone fawn over your little brother, then getting totally gypped out of the inheritance you thought you were gonna get. That would suck, right?" Gilbert paused, waiting for his brother to nod. "Anyway, he snapped a little after the will, and I guess I don't really blame him. But, for the record, I didn't approve of the whole assassination thing. He did that on his own."

Ludwig grunted his disapproval, his deep frown demanding the albino to continue.

"He set the whole damn thing up and I didn't even know about it until I overheard him on the phone. At that point it was too late, and I was gonna tell you, but you were blowing me off all week. Besides," he smirked, "I had faith in my baby brother."

"That's beside the point, _Prussia._" The blond hissed. "The Italy brothers weren't known outside of the mansion until then. Now, the Chinese Triad is aware of them, and who knows how long before the Russian Mafiya is alerted as well. You don't deserve the name 'Beilschmidt' anymore, _bruder_. You're a disgrace."

"Hey!" Gilbert's face flushed with rage as he drew himself up to meet his brother's glare. "I didn't know anything about their mysterious… whatever before you told me just now! How was I supposed to know that Rome was the head of the freaking Italian Mafia?"

Ludwig's voice rose slowly as he berated the older man. "_You_ were the one who told me to keep an eye on him! You said you _knew_ he was part of something big!"

"I didn't think that it was the goddamn mafia!"

"Now Italy and Romano are both at risk." He spat, almost unable to meet the other's crimson gaze. "If either of them dies, _bruder_, consider it your fault."

Gilbert said nothing, opting to stare at the wall directly to his left. The shame creeping into his expression didn't go unseen, but remained unaddressed. Instead, Ludwig sighed and drew closer to the albino.

"Promise me something, Gilbert."

The man's ears pricked at the sound of his name squeezing through the thin lips of the bodyguard. He glanced up sharply, as though suspecting he'd imagined it.

"Never… never tell Italy that it was Romano." The blond whispered before adding, "He loves his brother, and I don't want you to ruin that, too."

A familiar, self-satisfied sneer crept across Gilbert's lips as he gripped his brother's bicep. "Deal."

_

* * *

_

To tell the truth, I'm sick of this life. Everywhere I look I see drugs, weapons, and humans – all sold by my hand in return for stacks of soiled bills. It disgusts me, and though one might say that we are living in peace, I hardly find that to be the case. We are simply living under a series of threats and agreements lined with promises of violence. All we know now is ceasefire.

Ludwig slowly turned the pages of the journal, systematically scanning the pages and making extensive mental notes. Mr. Roma (whose given name, he'd found, was Romulus) had been surprisingly eloquent and staid, so different from the happy-go-lucky optimist who'd once traipsed about the manor.

To his left, Feliciano murmured gently in his sleep. Ludwig reflexively reached out and smoothed the Italian's tousled auburn curls from his forehead. With a sigh, the German began to knead at his temples, eyes clenched shut as he filled in the blanks. According to Mr. Roma's notes, the new head of the Russian Mafiya had been growing more unstable, more likely to risk an all-out war. On the other hand, the head of the Chinese Triad seemed to be plotting something quietly, using the relative peace to his advantage. Either way, Ludwig didn't like it, and neither, it seemed, did his stomach acids.

* * *

The next chapter will be up sometime tomorrow. Really. I've just been super inspired lately, I guess.

Also, I have no idea how much one would actually pay for information like this, so I might be too high, I might be too low.

Actually, let me confide in you that I had originally planned the conflict between the Italian brothers to last much longer than it does (as of now). However, fear not. The end is nowhere to be seen.

Thank you so much to xAtomicSmilex for offering fan art! I'm so flattered... and her work is beautiful!


	13. Chapter 12: An End and a Beginning

Chapter 12: An End and a Beginning

Ivan Braginski smiled vacantly as his gloved hands twisted at his weapon of choice. The faucet pipe was speckled with rust and blood, speaking for all the unfortunate individuals who had become quite well acquainted with the icy metal.

"Do you trust him, brother?" Natalya interrupted his train of thought as she addressed him. "It seems ridiculous that you would overlook something as valuable as that."

"_Nyet_, he was telling the truth." There was a dangerous, hungry glint in the Russian's eye as his grip tightened on the piping.

His half sister pouted slightly, her storm-colored eyes narrowed and brimming with displeasure. "But you would never ignore a detail like Roma's two grandsons. Does that cripple take us for idiots?"

"Mm, you also noticed this, yes?" Ivan chuckled darkly. "I do not know as to why he carried that gun. He would have never been able to fire it with that arm."

* * *

The next morning, Lovino and Gilbert joined the others for breakfast. When they entered the room, a short, uncomfortable silence fell until Feliciano rose and greeted his brother a hug.

"Good morning, Romano!" He was grinning, and there were crumbs around his mouth. His brother simply stared at him for a long time, hazel eyes flickering with sorrow, guilt, envy, anger, and what might have been affection.

"Tch, whatever. Idiot." The Italian grumble loudly as he seated himself beside the cheerful heir. "Look, Veneziano, I'm sorry."

Tilting his head, Feliciano frowned. "For what?"

"You know what I mean! For…" Realization crept across Lovino's face and he shot an incredulous glance in Ludwig's direction. "I mean, for making you worry, dammit. You weren't up last night crying for me, where you?"

"Just a little." The younger brother admitted, looking sheepish. "but I knew that Spain would keep you safe, ve."

"S-Spain?" His face turned an impressive shade of red, and he whirled to glare daggers at his guard.

Gilbert threw up his hands in front of him, smiling nervously. "Hey, Romano, I had to get patched up, you know? I awesomely took a bullet to the shoulder for you, after all."

"Son of a… You couldn't've gotten anyone else?" Lovino looked fit to burst.

"He was ready to shoot anyone who came with a 25 meter radius of your room, so I figured you were plenty safe."

"But _Spain_!"

"You didn't know him back in the day, Romano." Francis had emerged from the kitchen and was lounging in the doorframe. "He might act like a… an airhead, but if you get on his bad side, he can be an utter terror."

Only the Roma-Vargas brothers seemed very surprised to hear this shocking development. Ludwig, however, had been steadily working his way through their grandfather's journals and was quite familiar with the former lifestyles of many of the employees.

"He's right." Gilbert drained his coffee and replaced the mug with a pensive _thunk._ "Spain's a total badass when he wants to be. Actually, he was a professional hitman before he came here."

Now Lovino's face, neck, and ears were a darker red than any of the onlookers had ever witnessed. His head bowed forward as his shoulders quaked with repressed emotion.

With all of his usual charm and disregard for his surroundings, Antonio burst into the dining area. "Romano! You look well today! We were all so worried-"

"You bastard!" His fist caught the gardener's cheek, jerking his head sideways. "You lying bastard! I hate you!"

Before he could draw back and hit him again, Antonio effortlessly caught his hand in his own. "Enough, Romano."

The note of authority in his voice seemed to catch Lovino off guard, and the Italian stammered unintelligibly. Dropping the young man's fist, he turned and addressed the others.

"Good morning, everyone. _¿Como andais?_"

The cook took this opportunity to slip back into the kitchen. Seeing his friend with that fiery look still sent chills down Francis's back.

"Can't complain." Gilbert snuck a glimpse of his stuttering charge. "_Wie geht's?_"

"Not bad, not bad." Antonio smiled and the fire in his eyes died, giving way to his usual sunny grin. "Anyway, I'll let you go back to your breakfasts."

"Thank you." Ludwig spoke up, nodding at the Spaniard with quiet admiration.

"_Ciao_, Spain!" The younger Italian waved, happily devouring every pastry within arm's reach. The gardener laughed.

"_Hasta luego, _Italy."

* * *

"They have a right to know!"

"It's neither our place nor our responsibility to tell them. We're to be dismissed at the end of the week, anyhow."

"We can't just… just abandon them, Roderich. Not after all these years."

"We're not 'abandoning' them, _Ungarn_. They have the brothers. They'll be fine."

"What the hell ever happened to you?" She was yelling. "All you ever do anymore is play your music! Do you even remember your life before the Roman Peace?"

"I do."

Gilbert leaned against the doors of the music room, listening as the couple fought; they'd been doing that much more often as of late.

"-don't care anymore! Germany was right, you _have _forgotten your loyalty!"

"Don't you _dare_-"

"Or you'll _what_?"

The sharp sound of a slap rang on the air as the temperature seemed to drop below freezing. From his position outside the door, Gilbert hissed his displeasure. Even so, he forced himself to remain still.

A moment later, an infuriated Austrian threw open the door and stormed past the albino, ignoring him entirely. The young woman standing beside the piano appeared to be stunned, gingerly massaging her injured cheek.

"Did'ya show him what for?" The bodyguard asked, the laughter in his voice slowly fading as she raised her eyes to greet him.

"Get out, Gilbert."

"Aw, c'mon, is that anyway to treat your best, most awesome friend?"

"Out." Her voice was steady even as twin tears slipped down her flushed cheeks. "Please, just get out."

A callous-roughened rested against her shoulder, pulling her into his side. Wide, green eyes flew open and snapped onto the German who refused to meet her gaze.

"Gilbert, what are you?"

"Look, if you need to cry or something…" He stared stubbornly out the window, "just do it."

Her face shone with tears and she slowly placed her arms around his neck, crying into his chest. Finally, her shoulders stopped heaving. The two of them stood – almost awkwardly – in each other's arms.

"You know, you're my best friend, Gilbert." The words were whispered, breezing past the pale flesh of the bodyguard's neck.

He closed his eyes and buried his fingers in her gently waving hair. "I know."

There was a pause. "Thanks."

"Whatever." The albino's chest ached even as he forced himself to grin. "Look, I'll be here whenever you need me, Lizzie. I promise."

* * *

Concerning Yong Soo the "Cripple" - This is meant to imply that when Yao shot him, it damaged the nerves in his arm to the point that he is unable to use a gun with right hand... though we don't actually know if he could use his left for this. Yet.

Also... I just noticed that I've alternated between "Elizabeta" and "Elizaveta" throughout the story. I'm really sorry about that. =_='

Translations:

Como andais - roughly, "What's up?" using Castillian Spanish.  
Wie geht's - also roughly, "What's up?" in German.


	14. Chapter 13: Answers

Chapter 13: Answers

"Germany?" Elizabeta hesitated outside the door, breath catching in her throat. "Germany, I have to talk to you."

There was a brief pause, then the dull noise of sock-covered feet as they carried the guard across the room.

Piercing, blue eyes silently asked for her motives as Ludwig explained in a whisper that Feliciano and his brother were napping. Mr. Roma's journal was clenched in his left hand.

"I want to tell you about Rome." She murmured, forcing herself to meet his emotionless stare. "About the mafia."

"I heard you had his journals. I just thought I'd offer my help in case there was a part you didn't understand." The brunette smiled nervously, hands fidgeting in her lap. She had allowed the guard to seat her on the sofa in the room in which the Italian brothers were napping, and was now almost regretting it as the menacing German towered over her. She could barely believe that he and Gilbert were related.

Ludwig waved the small, leather-bound book. "Thank you, Hungary, but I think I understand-"

"Do you know about the Roman Peace?" She asked suddenly. His brow furrowed.

"You mean the ceasefire?"

"Rome negotiated with the other heads to ensure a period of relative peace." The woman explained, growing more comfortable with her surroundings. "He wouldn't have mentioned it, but he was a brilliant diplomat. He invited the heads to his mansion and had dinner with them as an act of trust. Rome was so full of confidence and charisma… He really knew how to talk to people."

"But why…?"

"When his daughter was born, Rome didn't want her to grow up in a warzone. Florence was a strong woman, but sweet. I don't think he wanted her to live the same sort of life he was living… then those two." Elizabeta cast a gentle eye upon the sleeping grandsons. The blond followed her gaze.

"How did he hide them all these years?"

"Pure genius and luck." There was a small sigh as the Hungarian cast him a calculating look. "You understand how Rome gathered all of his employees, right?"

"Yes…"

"He started after Florence was killed." She explained gently, sensing the guard's apprehension. "He and Germania both, actually. We were to be a sort of last line of defense to protect his grandsons in the case of an emergency, but now…"

"Why is he sending you away?" Ludwig asked, voicing her unspoken question.

"We don't know." There was a hard quality in her voice as she replied. "But, I think I understand. Maybe a little."

The German looked at her expectantly. Elizabeta spared him a thin smile.

"I think he means to topple the Roma house with his death. With himself out of the way, and by removing his employees from their contracts, he effectively ended his mafia."

"And by sending his grandsons to America," Ludwig broke in, realization in his eyes, "he ensures that they are distanced from the two remaining mafias."

"Rome was a great man." The brunette assured him, rising to her feet. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a few errands to attend to."

* * *

Feliciano stared out the window across the property, his world, as a lone tear trickled down his cheek. He'd heard everything, and was overflowing with emotions. He wanted to cry for his mother, his strong, sweet mother whom he'd never known. He wanted to swell with pride for his grandfather, the brilliant diplomat. He wanted to cling to Elizabeta, Roderich, Francis, Antonio… all of the employees to whom he'd grown attached. America seemed so far away, and he didn't think he could bear to watch as all of his friends exited the mansion and went their separate ways. At least he would have Ludwig. He would always have Ludwig.

Heart thudding dully in his chest, the young heir rolled onto his side to stare up at his guard. His smooth brow was creasing under the weight of whatever it was that he was reading in the journal, shadowing his pretty, sky-colored eyes. So often they were cold and empty, almost inhuman as they stared down whoever was unfortunate enough to meet the death glare, but Feliciano had seen _it_ before. The smallest hint of laughter, of sorrow, of embarrassment, anger, or fear. All of them were present in Ludwig's being, the guard was simply an expert at hiding them.

But his charge _wanted_ to see them. More than possibly anything, he wanted to see the German with a smile on his face, eyes dancing with joy. Feliciano thought that it would be beautiful. He _knew_ that it would be beautiful.

"Oh, Italy, you're awake." Surprise flickered through flawless blue before disappearing behind the ever-present mask of indifference. "I'm sorry, did I wake you?"

"Nope." He smiled, feeling his heart quicken as a soft blush covered the other's pale cheeks. "I was just thinking."

"Ah."

Beside him, Lovino stirred. Face screwed into a grimace, he spat a quiet curse to Antonio before rolling over and resuming his undisturbed slumber. Feliciano giggled.

"Have you learned anything new, Germany?"

Ludwig glanced around the room, visually sweeping the property through the windows as he answered. "Um, yes. Quite a bit, actually."

"And that's a good thing, right?"

"Of course it is." There was no hesitation as the blond returned to his reading.

"Then be happy!" His charge smiled, pointing helpfully to his own grinning lips. "Smile! That's an order!"

There was a moment of painful and awkward straining on the German's part before he managed a rather sinister smirk. Feliciano shivered.

"That's creepy…"

It vanished immediately. "I'm sorry."

"No, don't worry about it." He offered a reassuring pat on the leg, the only part of Ludwig that he could reach without sitting up. "You did your best!"

He didn't respond, rather, he set aside the small book and leaned closer to the Italian. Absently wetting his lips, he whispered. "Where are you going to go, Italy? America is a big country, and you don't know-"

"I was thinking about New York." The brunet grinned lazily. "I hear there are lots of other Italians there, so it'll be easy to hide there!"

"Is that so?" There was an impressed note in the guard's voice as he pondered this. His charge was quite clever, it seemed, despite what he often led others to believe. "Have we any contacts in New York?"

Reaching for his pants that had been so neatly folded and set up on the coffee table, Feliciano sheepishly produced a folded sheet of paper. "I found this in _Nonno_'s journal, and I forgot to give it to you sooner."

Ludwig bit back an irritated reprimand as he reached for the slip. It contained only a name, an address, and a phone number.

"Alfred F. Jones?"

* * *

Alfred rocked back in his chair, rubbing slow circles with a rag into the cold metal of his old six-shooter. In the background, the radio was grinding out some new pop song, the usual obscene lyrics crackling across the poor reception. A dirtied sneaker steadily marked time as the young man cleaned his firearm, ocean blue eyes fixed stubbornly on the task at hand.

"I'm home!" The front door slammed shut and the muffled thump of footsteps broke the relative quiet of the apartment. "Al? You here, eh?"

"Yeah, yeah. Hey, Matt!" Deftly snapping the barrel into position, Alfred rose to his feet and stashed the immaculate weapon in his file cabinet.

"Oh, you're down here?" A nearly identical blond popped his head into the small office, large, indigo eyes observing his brother from behind a neat pair of spectacles.

The older of the two simply shuffled his documents, slipping a sheaf into a yellow folder. "I just thought I'd finish up a few things before bed, you know?"

"Okay." There was a pause, then a thick envelope landed on the desk, falling open to reveal a wad of bills. "It was a good haul tonight."

Alfred nodded, barely looking up as he thumbed through the profit. "Awesome."

"Hey, Al, while you're at it…" Matthew reached behind him and drew a gun from the waistband of his pants. "Would you mind cleaning mine, too, eh?"

Sighing in mock exhaustion, the blue-eyed twin held out his hand. "I guess I could. Since I'm just a nice guy like that."

"Of course." His brother smirked, relinquishing his weapon. "That would be why we got wrapped up in this business in the first place."

* * *

And so Feliciano's emotions begin to make themselves clear! Also, it's the introduction of the North American brothers! Hooray~

Actually, the beginning of this chapter was just my shameless attempt to fill in whatever holes there might be. If anyone's reading this and wondering about Germania's threat of "The Italian Mafia will never forget!" My best answer would that even he was unsure of Rome's inner workings. /shot

Another chapter's on its way! And another shortly after that! (Hooray for drama and excitement!)


	15. Chapter 14: Rose Petals on Marble

A quick note:

I fail at technology, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes I might make in posting thses chapters. As long as I am alerted ASAP, I will address the matter immediately. If there is a posting error, please know that it isn't the first time I've put up the wrong chapter... I once uploaded a completely different fanfic in place of a chapter. That was embarassing. Anyway, I'm sorry about the earlier mix up, and I hope you can find it in your hearts to forgive my poor computer skills!

* * *

Chapter 14: Rose Petals on Marble

Yong Soo strode easily down the street, whistling cheerfully to himself even as his right arm hung limply against his chest. He was a rich man. Not only that, but he was going to taste the sweet victory of revenge. Soon he'd have _that_ man squirming in agony before him, begging and begging for death. He would listen to him screaming and crying, suffering as everything was slowly taken from him… then he would set him free. Yong Soo was a fair man. He wouldn't kill the person who had so terribly wronged him. No, he would humiliate him, torture him, and then reduce him to a mere shadow of his former greatness before casting him back out into the world, forcing him to wake up every morning and look at his debilitated self in the mirror.

Yong Soo wasn't stupid, and he would have his revenge soon. Very, very soon.

* * *

It was Sunday. The last day. Feliciano wandered through the slowly emptying house, pointedly avoiding the covered portraits and stacked furniture. The home he'd known as a child, a teenager, and a young man would soon be lost to him forever, and he wanted to make every last minute count.

"Italy?" Ludwig poked his head out of the library where he was helping his brother organize the endless volumes into cardboard boxes to be sold or donated. "Did you want to go somewhere?"

"No, no. I'm just…" He paused. What _was _he doing, anyway? "I'm just trying to remember everything."

Understanding filled his blue eyes as he nodded curtly. "Very well. Alert me before you decide to venture to a different level."

"I will." The brunet's smile was stiff, but if the guard noticed, he said nothing. Instead, he returned to packing away the books that the house's late owner had once loved so much. Just like Feliciano, they were being shipped away to never return.

Whirling on his heel, the heir forced himself down the corridor. His chest was hollow, his throat was dry, he was homesick, and he hadn't even left.

* * *

Gilbert's eyes wandered lazily along the uniform rows of dusty literature. It was so gratifying to see them lined up so neatly, ordered carefully from tallest to shortest, alphabetically, by thickness. They almost seemed ready to march off the shelves with just one sharp order.

Bringing his arm up, he swept them into an empty box where they fell like birds, wings half spread in a mockery of flight. They were fallen soldiers, broken and aged, waiting to be shipped home in crates. Reaching in, he straightened their bodies, organizing them into neat little stacks.

"I'm worried about Italy." Ludwig mused suddenly, breaking the relative quiet. His brother glanced up from his imaginary battlefield, scarlet eyes fixing themselves flippantly on the ceiling.

"Are you ever not?"

There was something in his tone that made the blond sputter with indignation. "W-what are you trying to imply?"

"Nothin'." A wicked smirk curled itself across Gilbert's pale lips as he pretended to study the binding of some ancient text. "'Cept that you've got it bad for Italy."

"I have nothing for Italy!" The younger man was insisting, face red and angry. "The only bond we share is that I die if someone tries to shoot him!"

His brother shrugged, yanking several books from a low shelf and sending them toppling into the waiting cardboard box. "Sure."

"I'm serious." The death glare Ludwig gave him was evidence enough of the statement.

"Hey, whatever you say." Gilbert threw up his hands, but was unable to hide the cynical smirk on his face. "Besides, I'm sure even he's got _some_ standards."

The blond scowled, unable to decide whether the albino was mocking him or his charge.

"I don't love Italy."

There was a gentle noise from the door, just barely audible to Ludwig's sharp ears. Then, the sound of fleeing footsteps. Feliciano.

"-West, such a little hard ass-"

Shoving his brother backwards over an unattended box, the blond dashed out to the hallway in time to catch a glimpse of his charge rounding the corner to the staircase.

"Italy! Italy, wait!"

* * *

Feliciano's bare feet struck up a bitter, staccato rhythm as he raced down the corridor.

Of course Ludwig didn't love him. Their relationship was completely professional; it's how it was supposed to be between the Beilschmidts and their charges. Professional.

_Then why does it hurt so much?_ Feliciano gripped at his shirt, forming a fist over his heart. If he didn't love Ludwig that way, why were there so many tears streaming down his cheeks? Why did it hurt so much?

"Italy! Italy, wait!"

The sound of his guard's voice spurred him on, encouraging him to run even faster. He couldn't face him like this. He knew that Ludwig would just look at him with those empty blue eyes and say nothing, he knew it would kill him if he saw the expressionless look on his guard's face even as he sobbed out his feelings. It hurt so much.

"Italy!" The German was gaining on him, his large feet thudding urgently against the hardwood flooring.

"Stop it!" Feliciano cried over his shoulder, unable to find the words to express himself. "Just stop-!"

"Italy!"

The floor was gone and the young heir pitched forward into empty space. Heart thudding in his head, his amber eyes widened as the cold, marble staircase loomed beneath him.

"Germany…"

The name came as a whispered prayer, floating with its speaker on the thin air as he squeezed his eyes shut in anticipation. Any second, the world would resume its normal speed and his head would shatter against the stairs into a million tiny pieces.

Something tremendous collided with him, spinning him sideways to stare up at the arched ceiling. Thick arms tightened around his waist even as he felt himself bounced back against a much more muscular body. Again and again and again and again and again…

Finally, Feliciano lurched forward and rolled onto the blissfully flat ground. For a moment, he simply stayed there on his belly, gasping for breath and struggling to slow his still-panicked heart. Hands shaking violently, he forced himself onto his knees. Ludwig was lying a little ways away, and there was blood. There was blood everywhere. It was as though the white staircase had been sprinkled with rose petals, the deep red against the pale stone. It was beautiful. At least, it might have been if Feliciano hadn't been screaming with deaf ears.

* * *

And then Germany died. /shot JUST KIDDING! REALLY!

I'm actually pretty pleased with this chapter, even though it seems like there's a _lot_ of imagery and stuff in it... I hope it's not too distracting. ^^; I did have fun writing it, though.


	16. Chapter 15: Still Breathing

Chapter 15: Still Breathing

"He'll be fine." Elizabeta was murmuring, gently massaging the boy's back as he sobbed into her chest. "Germany's tough, he'll be fine."

"B-b-but it's m-m-m-my fa-a-ault!" He forced out the words with shuddering lungs. "I-I was b-b-being s-s-st-s-stupid…"

The young woman pulled him in closer, whispering comfortingly into his ear. "It's okay, Italy. Everyone makes mistakes. It's not your fault. It's okay, it's okay, it's okay…"

"West's got a nasty head… thingy." Gilbert entered the room, expression dark and anxious. "I mean, I know he's got a thick skull, but _damn_…"

The maid shot him a poisonous look and he promptly fell silent.

"Don't listen to him, Italy." She assured him, rubbing her work-calloused hands up and down his arms. "He's fine, I'm sure of it."

"H-Hungary?"

"Yes, dear?"

Feliciano hesitated, breath hitching painfully in his throat. He whispered. "I-is it b-bad that I l-love him?"

"Of course not." She smiled gently, "You've grown up together. What do you expect?"

"B-but w-w-when I he-heard him say he-he d-didn't love me I… I… it h-hurt so much!" He burst into another bout of uncontrollable tears, wretched sobs echoing painfully around his bedroom. Gilbert flinched.

"That was my fault, Italy." He said slowly, voice low. "I shouldn't've been teasing him."

The Hungarian glared at him, her eyes clearly hissing, "You're such an ass!"

The albino fidgeted for a moment longer before he finally left, grunting a small apology and something about leaving his charge unattended. The moment the door closed again, Feliciano raised his head.

Eyes swollen with hours of tears, he squinted out at Elizabeta. "I-is it w-w-wrong that-at I l-love G-G-Germany-y?"

"Of course no-"

"I-I mean like… like r-r-really _l-love_."

"I think that's wonderful." The woman patted his back even as hiccups wrenched themselves free of his lips. "With all this bad that's happening, it's about time we saw something good."

* * *

Ludwig coughed, breath burning in his chest as he struggled through the icy fog. It was so thick that he could barely see his own feet hitting the asphalt, let alone see where he was going. He ran on anyway, wincing inwardly as he felt his body heat escaping through his lips and nostrils as he exhaled.

He could see neither the sun nor moon, and he was unsure of why he was running. All he knew was that he had be somewhere, and fast.

"Ludwig." A familiar voice was calling out to him from somewhere in the distance, stirring up apprehension in the pit of his stomach. "Ludwig."

"_Opa?_" As he charged through the mist, he searched wildly with unseeing eyes. Somehow his grandfather was always just a little farther, always just beyond his reach. The voice was clearer now, but just as distant.

"Ludwig."

"I hear you, I hear you!" The young man's chest was bursting with frustration as he forced himself to continue, running and running after what seemed like hours, days, weeks. And still, he seemed no closer.

Suddenly, he realized that he could make out indistinct shapes beyond the curtain of fog, shadows of what might have been humans or specters. Either way, the fog was lifting.

"Ludwig."

With one last burst of speed, Ludwig sprinted. Muscular legs pumped like pistons, driving him forward with surprising speed for one of his stature. Cheeks puffing wildly as he battled for breath, he burst through the lingering clouds into a clearing. The sun was shining overhead, and his grandfather was waiting.

"Ludwig."

"_Opa._"

Odoacer, called Germania, was standing before him, looking just as he always had. Perhaps a tad younger, fewer wrinkles carving out his now-smooth brow.

"What have you gotten yourself into now, Ludwig?" He asked. Ludwig had almost forgotten how quiet his grandfather's voice had actually been. Somehow, when he was younger, it had always seemed so powerful and full. Now, it seemed almost timid.

"I… don't know, actually." He admitted sheepishly, knowing that losing track of oneself was considered one of the greatest evils a Beilschmidt could commit. Right underneath developing an overly emotional relationship with a charge.

"You're in Limbo. Don't forget it." He spoke with the same straight-cut tone he had used in life, always bordering on stingy with his words.

"Yes sir."

"Have you been keeping well?"

"Well enough."

"And Feliciano?"

"I'm still breathing, aren't I?" An old family joke. It seemed almost stale coming off his lips. Ludwig hesitated. "Aren't I?"

"Yes." Odoacer studied his grandson closely, as though examing the internal structure of his being. "And I intend that you remain that way."

The older man turned away. In that moment, Ludwig blinked and opened his eyes to find himself lost.

The fog had returned.

* * *

Feliciano stepped into the quiet room, easing the door shut behind him as he did. There, in the bed, lay Ludwig.

His face was as pale as death, and his charge might have been fooled had it not been for the gentle flicker of movement behind paper-thin lids.

"He's just sleeping."

The Italian drew in breath sharply, catching sight, for the first time since he'd entered the room, of a young woman at the bedside. A pair of straight-edged spectacles sat perched on her nose as she tossed a thick plait of coffee-brown locks over her shoulder.

"He's fine, Italy. All of his vitals are where they ought to be."

Quietly flushing his embarrassment, he forced his lips to form the words, "Oh, thank you, Monaco."

"You should be going now." She informed him sharply. "He's not awake and he can't hear you talking even if you do. It would be best for him to just rest here for the time being, anyway."

"Right." His words seemed to be spoken by a different person. "I… I'll just be going, then."

"No."

The sound of Ludwig's voice startled both of them, whirling around to face the unconscious man. His brow was furrowed as his lips murmured endlessly. His arms and legs twitched against the mattress as he continued to whisper like a mad man. "No no no no no…"

"Germany!" Feliciano brushed past the young medic in favor of snatching up his guard's hand. "Germany, I'm so sorry I was being stupid and almost killed you falling down those stairs! I didn't mean to, it's just because you said you hated me and I was upset and I wasn't looking where I was going and please wake up, you're scaring me!"

"Feliciano." The name slipped from his tongue like honey, sweetening his expression. The creases in his forehead vanished and he seemed to relax. "Feliciano."

"I love you, Germany!" He insisted, "I know I was taking you for granted for a really long time, but I know that I love you now! I love you so much!"

The German said nothing, but seemed to fall into a deeper sleep. A faint smile on his lips.

"Come on, Italy." The bespectacled girl caught the brunet by the arm. "Now it's _really_ time for you to go."

As she ushered the weeping man from the room, she turned to scrutinize her fair-haired ward, watching intently as his broad chest heaved steadily beneath the starched, white blankets. He was scowling again.

* * *

Actually, I have no idea what kind of personality Monaco would have. It might just be her glasses, but for some reason I imagine her being quite strict... that, and she lives with France and someone's gotta keep him in line.

So, yeah.

New chapter within the next week or so.


	17. Chapter 16: Departure

Chapter 16: Departure

"Um, I just wanted to say…" Feliciano looked out over the small crowd gathered before him, standing silently, impatiently at the foot of that cold, marble staircase. "I wanted to say 'thank you' to all of you… You've been hard workers and so faithful to us…"

His voice cracked. He didn't even pause to wipe away his tears.

"And I wanted to tell you that I'll never forget any of you, and really, really hope you never forget about me… You're all my family and, even if we never see each other again, maybe we can still stay together in heart…"

"What my stupid little brother's trying to say," Lovino broke in, looking sourly at the employees, "is 'good luck.' We're thankful and stuff for you guys taking care of us, but it's time to move out and get the hell on with our lives."

"And we love you all."

"_He _loves you all."

"Romano does, too."

"Do not!"

The Beilschmidts watched in faint amusement as the brothers bickered, the elder Italian making less-than playful swats for his sibling's head.

"Where're you headed, West?" Gilbert asked in an undertone, eyes not leaving his charge for a moment. Ludwig grunted. He'd awoken early that morning, his charge's name on his lips, but the now, the jagged throb at the back of his head made him almost regretted doing so.

"New York. It's going to be an absolute nightmare in that city… just think of the muggers, rapists, and kidnappers that could be living there." He hissed in disgust.

The albino punched him lightly in the shoulder, making the younger wince as he came into contact with his bruises. "Relax a bit, kid. Once you leave, you're not his guard anymore. After we're done here, the family isn't an issue. We're free agents." He cackled. "It'll be weird as hell not being meat shields, though."

"The Beilschmidt family has disbanded?"

"Yup." Gilbert threw an arm around him, "We're the last two holders of the name. Pretty sweet, huh?"

"_Ja_." Perhaps it would be more accurately described as "bittersweet." The rules, the countless codes of honor, the oaths… they would mean nothing. The entire meaning of his life was null and void, leaving him instead feeling unfulfilled.

* * *

Feliciano held his hand tightly as they made their way through the airport, legs swinging neatly in sync. Though the German's gait was stiff and painful, he held his head high. As one of two remaining Beilschmidts, he was determined not to disgrace the name. However…

Ever since his brother had alerted him of the disbanding of their family, Ludwig had been haunted by a recent development: Feliciano loved him. His former charge had grown romantically and emotionally attached to him and, for possibly the first time in his life, the blond was at a complete loss as to how to react. He had been trained to defend, to kill, but never to love. In fact, his emotions had been quashed beneath the constant weight of duty and locked behind an unwavering scowl. In the twin fields of personal relations and romance, Ludwig was as unprepared as a guard without a vest or gun. He was an utter liability.

"Germany, Germany, look at all the people!" The cheerful brunet was crying, waving his arms excitedly to communicate his point. "I'll bet they're from _everywhere!_"

"_Ja._" He answered automatically, simply responding to the sound of the other's voice.

His companion frowned, puffing out his cheeks in displeasure. "You're not even listening to me."

"Of course I am." Sharp eyes darted about the crowded terminal, reflexively scanning the masses for concealed weapons and murderous intent. The Italian tugged impatiently at his arm, resting his head against the man's shoulder and earning the pair a plethora of strange looks. Ludwig's ears burned.

"Italy, let go."

"No."

"Italy, you're making a scene."

"I don't care."

"Italy…" The ex-guard's tone held equal parts pleading and discomfort.

"But I love you, Germany." He insisted, threading their fingers together. "And I want to show you how much."

When he rose onto his tiptoes to plant a quick kiss on the man's scarlet cheek, Ludwig found his head buzzing with a curious amount of white noise. What had he been doing again?

"I-Italy! Not in public!" He finally managed, gulping anxiously with a tight throat. "People are watching!"

Tears glittered in Feliciano's hurt gaze. "But, Germany…"

A camera snapped in the background and the blond could sense his grandfather stirring in his grave.

He sighed.

Leaning forward, he brushed his shuddering lips across the other's forehead. "I'm sorry, Italy."

The brunet grinned, flinging his arms around Ludwig's thick neck. "I forgive you!"

And they kissed. And the German's brain short-circuited and melted into a warm, fuzzy puddle of grey matter. And they kissed. And their flight was being announced…

The men separated with a small _pop_, breathing heavily through flared nostrils. Feliciano nestled happily against his protector's well-muscled chest, feeling excited and pleasantly dazed. It hadn't been his first kiss, but it had definitely been his favorite.

"Get a room." A woman was calling out in irritating, covering her child's eyes with a carefully manicured hand. Ludwig recognized her accent as distinctively American and snorted at the nation's lack of tolerance for such behaviors.

"Excuse us, Ma'am." He apologized coldly, directing an icy glare in her direction. "But might I ask that you don't concern yourself with our personal affairs?" _Or is it that you Americans are unable to refrain from poking your noses into everyone else's business?_

She had the audacity to look affronted as she hurried her son along at fast pace, huffing angrily about those _gay _Europeans. The blond felt his temper rise, but obediently bit back his desire to bark out a sharp retort.

Feliciano gazed up at the German with awe. "You can speak English really good."

"Yes." He spoke Italian now, the words still slightly clumsy on his tongue even after years of use. "I can speak several languages."

"Wah, really?" Amber eyes fairly glowed with admiration. "You're so cool, Germany!"

Ludwig grunted, trying not to feel so flattered. "It's part of my job, Italy."

"Your _old _job."

"Yes." He hesitated. "That job."

* * *

Feliciano crossed his legs, then uncrossed them, then fidgeted for a few seconds before recrossing them and kicking his foot nervously against the seat in front of him. His companion shot him a look and he planted both feet on the floor.

"You've never been on a plane, have you?" Ludwig asked flatly, knowing the answer even as he spoke.

"I've never left Italy." He murmured, curling a stray lock around his finger. "And planes scare me."

The blond nodded. Feliciano's parents had been killed in a plane crash, he knew that. After a long moment of thought, he slipped his broad hand into the brunet's and gripped it firmly.

"I've been on several planes," he began, glancing sternly up the aisle. "In fact, when I was training, I even had to jump out of some of them. I assure you that there is nothing to be afraid of, but if something does go wrong, know that I will do anything possible to ensure your safety."

"I know." The Italian smiled gently, resting his head against the man's broad shoulder. "I'm really glad I can be here with you, Germany. As long as you're with me, I'm never scared."

Warmth blossomed in Ludwig's chest as he allowed himself a tentative smile. "Good.

* * *

After an hour or so of being in the air, the young man had fallen asleep, still leaning against his former bodyguard.

The German instinctively brushed back Feliciano's bangs as they spilled across his smooth brow. He couldn't deny that he was protective of the hair, that he felt pleasantly tingly whenever Feliciano told him that he loved him… that he had very much enjoyed kissing him. He coughed.

"Mm, Germany?" The brunet nuzzled sleepily against the other's thick bicep. "Are we almost there?"

"No."

"Oh…"

To draw his attention away from the long flight ahead, Ludwig pointed to the small, tinted glass window. "Look at the clouds, Italy."

Feliciano's eyes widened comically as he stared out the window. "Wow…"

The jet sliced through the delicate, white formations, revealing the wispy pearl against a strikingly blue sky, not all too different form the shade of the German's eyes.

"It's beautiful, Germany." He exhaled, committing the sights to memory so that he could immortalize them on canvas. "Is this how God sees the world?"

Having never been terribly religious but wanting to please the brunet, Ludwig nodded slowly. "Maybe."

They sat in a relative silence for a few minutes, punctuated by soft gasps of amazement as Feliciano pressed up against the porthole. Finally, the taller man spoke up.

"When we get to America, we won't use our codename anymore."

The Italian peeled his gaze from the open sky. "Why not?"

"Well, it will sound strange in English, first of all. Second, there's no point. You're not a Roma anymore, and I'm not really a Beilschmidt, so it doesn't matter who hears our names. From here on out, we're just Ludwig Beilschmidt and Feliciano Vargas."

"Oh, okay." He sighed heavily. "But y'know? I kinda liked being Italy."

Ludwig's heart pulsed in his throat as he squeezed his former charge's hand. "I know."

* * *

Another chapter already? Holy crap! Don't expect this to happed very much... ^^;

I didn't aim to offend anyone with the random woman in the airport. It was just sort of the general reaction I wanted to include. I might also point out that they are in Italy which, as far as I am aware, has not okayed homosexual unions (possibly due to the Pope and the Catholic church).

For the record, I am an American and a Catholic, and I have no problem with such unions. I am also aware, however, of the sharp criticisms that homosexuals face in our world.


	18. Chapter 17: A Parting of Ways

Hey guys, sorry it's taken so long to update this chapter because FanFiction was

* * *

Chapter 17: A Parting of Ways

Gilbert watched numbly as his brother boarded the plane, preparing to vanish forever. The pressure of one last farewell burdened his lungs as he raised a hand, then it failed. Keen, scarlet eyes caught sight of Ludwig's thick fingers entwined with Feliciano's, of the smile tempting his brother's lips, of the nervous gleam of self confidence in his young, pale eyes. With a painful jolt, he realized that Ludwig would be fine without him.

The albino exhaled slowly and returned his attention to Lovino who was grumbling loudly about everything that crossed his mind – especially the beaming Spaniard seated alongside him.

"Why the hell are you here anyway, bastard?" He was spitting, glaring at Antonio. "I thought you were going back to Spain."

"But I've never been to the States before." He grinned. "And Florida sounds nice."

The German chuckled, "You've got a thing for those peninsulas, dontcha Toni?"

"For the peninsulas?" Innocent green eyes looked up at him in confusion even as concealed laughter danced in their depths. "What do you mean?"

Lovino turned crimson. "Shut the fuck up, both of you!"

* * *

Feliciano stepped into the main body of the airport, amber eyes wide with amazement. The international crowd at the airport in Rome seemed almost limited compared to the pulsing masses of New York City. At his side, Ludwig gripped his arm protectively.

"I… F-Feliciano, slow down!" The unfamiliar name stumbled over his tongue, tripping on the remnants of a codename. "If we get separated, we'll never find each other again."

"Okay!" He smiled and kept obediently close to the blond. "I might need you to translate for me, too!"

"Of course." Ludwig eyed the crowd, quickly scanning the welcome posters being waved. Finally, he laid eyes on a sign bearing only two flags: the German and the Italian tricolors.

The man holding it seemed to emit a childish air of impatience and excitement, shifting his weight restlessly from one foot to the other. His straw-blond locks were messy, and he looked as though he'd forgotten to shave before leaving home, but his eyes were a rich, friendly blue. He could only be Alfred.

Ludwig had phoned him before leaving, but had only spoken to his brother (a soft-spoken young man whose name had to be repeated several times before the guard was able to discern it from the obnoxious music blaring in the background) who had promised to prepare that specific banner. The German took Feliciano's hand.

"He's here."

* * *

Ludwig Beilschmidt was a very tall, menacing individual, and when he emerged from the crowd, Alfred felt his stomach swim with nerves. Then the moment passed and he beamed.

"Hey! You Ludwig and Feliciano?" He called, reading the names from the back of his sign.

"Yes." The man was even bigger up close, nearly a full head taller than his American counterpart and twice as broad. "My name is Ludwig Beilschmidt and he's Feliciano Vargas. It's nice to meet you."

Alfred seized the offered hand, crushing it eagerly as he shook. "Alfred F. Jones, what's up?"

Steely blue eyes regarded him blankly for a moment before Ludwig decided to ignore the question entirely. "It's been a long flight and Feliciano is tired. Can we go to the place we're staying?"

"Oh, sure." He laughed sheepishly. "Where's your stuff?"

"On the luggage… eh…"

"Carousel?"

The German nodded. "The luggage carousel."

"It's cool, we can wait." Tucking the welcome sign under his arm, the American shrugged and started making his way toward the baggage claim. "Does your friend there speak English?"

Feliciano smiled shyly. "A little."

"Awesome," Alfred returned his grin, clapping him excitedly on the back. "Don't worry, dude, you'll pick it up as you go."

There was a moment of awkward quiet, and the tall blond quickly repeated the sentence in Italian. His companion's expression brightened.

"_Grazie!_ Thank you, Alfred!"

* * *

Feliciano stared out the window of the red pickup, wide eyes trained on the towering skyscrapers.

"Hey," the driver addressed Ludwig, fairly shouting over the dull roar of the radio. "Don't you guys have this kinda stuff in Europe?"

The German nodded curtly. "Yes, we have the buildings in Europe, but he has always lived in the countryside. He only knows small towns."

Alfred laughed. "Well, then he's in for one hell of a culture shock."

* * *

Sorry it's such a short chapter, but you can consider it the end of part 1 and the beginning of part 2. Part 2 being Ludwig and Feliciano's time in the US.

The next chapter will be up soon... possibly tomorrow.


	19. Chapter 18: Closing In

Quick note: I'm actually a Korean-born American. I've studied a lot of Korean culture and history, and I have nothing but respect for my birthplace. His role in this story is completely irrelevant to any action by the Korean people and has nothing to do with the actual nation. When writing AU, I cease to consider the characters as countries, and begin to shape them as purely human. He represents nothing but himself.

* * *

Chapter 18: Closing In

Yong Soo snapped his cell phone shut, the plastic clicking sharply as he did. It seemed as though his quarry had "escaped" to America. A predatory smirk crept across his lips. All the better.

As he methodically rinsed the raw rice in the sink, the starch-thick water draining easily through the sieve, he couldn't help but admire the man's resourcefulness. He was clearly a tough individual, strong in both body and spirit – the type of man to quickly recover from a blow with dignity and honor. Yong Soo respected that, admired it, in fact.

The rice fell into the cooker with a wet _chhk_, followed swiftly by a carefully measured amount of fresh tap water. He would show Yao who was a useless pawn, who was expendable.

The Korean fastened the lid to the rice cooker, whistling to himself as he did. The future was looking bright… for him, anyway.

* * *

"Would you mind explaining to us why Mr. Roma kept you as a… a contact?" Ludwig asked, lounging back in the chair with his arms crossed stiffly over his broad chest.

Alfred slurped his Coke from its plastic soft-drink cup and shrugged. "I dunno. It was, like, seven years ago…"

The German eyed him stonily as he trailed off, silently urging him to continue. After a brief, dramatic sigh, he did.

"My brother an' I were just getting into the business, but we ran into a little trouble. Fuck that, it was a fucking disaster, actually. I mean, I coulda saved our asses any second, but then this guy comes flying in, shootin' like he's in some kinda movie or something. It was the coolest damn thing I'd ever seen. Then he takes out this other guy for us and looks at us all smooth and asks, 'You kids okay?' And I'm like, 'I totally had that guy.' But he just laughs and says, 'Sure, kid. I'm sure you did.' And Mattie's in the background pissing himself while I'm talking to this guy. And suddenly he asks us if we need anything, but we say no, so he gives us a phone number and tells us to call him if we ever need anything. Then he says something to this big, blond guy – who looked like you with extensions or something – and they leave. Then, later I'm calling him to ask for that favor, and it ends up that he got us a place to stay and everything. He was a real cool guy."

The man blinked. His neatly organized mind slowly processes the English, translating it first into Italian, then German. "So Mr. Roma helped you and your brother out of a bad situation when you were young?"

"Yup, pretty much." He took a large, greedy chunk out of his burger. "I still don't know why the hell he did it, though."

"Rome was a good man." Ludwig replied solemnly, vaguely recalling Elizabeta saying something similar. "Even if he was born into a bad family, he was a good man."

"No, no, I believe you." The American waved his hand, as though dispelling doubt. "My brother and I would be rotting in some gutter now if he hadn't helped us out back then. We're real grateful. Feels good to know we could kinda help him out in the end, too."

Two pairs of blue eyes fell upon the sleeping heir, sprawled lazily across Alfred's sofa.

"So, what's his story, anyway?"

"Feliciano Roma-Vargas, born in Venice, Italy twenty-one years ago." The former guard spoke almost mechanically, rattling off the more important aspects of the sleeping man. "His parents were killed in a plane crash, and he's lived with his grandfather since he was three. I became his guardian when we were thirteen."

"Thirteen, huh?" Alfred whistled, "That had to've been tough. Me and my brother were pretty much out on our own when we were fifteen, but that's still older than you guys were."

Ludwig considered this, head tilted slightly to the side. "I began training to become his guardian when I was four."

"Four?" Now he was shocked. "Just how important is this guy?"

"As important as the grandson of a Mafia Don is."

Passing up the urge to explain the idea of a "rhetorical question", the American drew his feet up onto the coffee table on which he was seated. "So, what about you?"

"I was his guardian."

"Gotcha."

Silence fell over the three men as the blonds stared blankly at the sleeping Italian. There were some things better left unsaid and some questions better left unasked. Both knew the other was withholding information, and both knew that the other would talk when he was ready. Until then, there was no point in rushing.

* * *

Ludwig hissed as he straightened up, back popping ominously. Digging through his luggage, he found the small pill bottle and shook two into his wide palm. Though he played down the pain so as not to worry Feliciano, the tumble he'd taken down the stairs had been quite serious. Several of his ribs had been bruised or cracked, and he was still having difficulties turning his head from side to side. That didn't even include the five stitches he'd gotten in the back of his head. He swallowed the medication dry.

Alfred had left them to their "quarters" hours ago, winking and telling them not to make too much noise because some people needed their beauty sleep. He'd laughed at his own joke (though Ludwig was certain that something had been missed in translation because he failed to see how exactly it was funny) and retreated to the other side of the apartment.

He sighed, settling back on the rickety cot that he'd been offered.

Kissing. He and Feliciano had been kissing in the middle of an airport, surrounded by people who had probably formed dangerous conclusions concerning the two of them. Ludwig shuddered inwardly, remembering the incident with the reluctant care one would apply when examining a recent injury. He liked Feliciano. He was a good person, happy and full of sympathy for those around him, but something was making the German uneasy. Perhaps it was one of several oaths he'd sworn as a child, promising never to become personally attached to his charge. Of course, the Beilschmidt family had probably never encountered one as kind and likable as Feliciano. It was impossible to remain cold-hearted when exposed to the sunny Italian.

But was this fondness… love? Ludwig knew that, on a psychological level, he was probably just experiencing some sort of mental whiplash from the heir's confessed feelings. The warmth he'd felt on the plane in the aftermath of the devastating kiss was giving way to a cold, icy numbness. A Beilschmidt had no emotions, no expressions, no weaknesses.

Now he faced a difficult decision; did he play along with Feliciano's wishes, filling the role of (dare he say it?) lover, or did he refuse the other's affections and risk losing his trust and respect? He dug his thick thumbs into his sockets, kneading tiredly at his eyes. He wished his grandfather was still alive so that he could ask him for advice. He wished Mr. Roma had never died, and that they were all still living blissfully unaware in Italy.

Ludwig's eyes snapped open with realization, broad hands falling away from his face. Throughout his training, reality had been stressed, and rational thought had always been considered superior. Logic would solve problems, but never wishful thinking. Which brought him to the question at hand: when had he learned how to wish?

* * *

"What have we gathered?" Ivan was asking, gaze cold as it fixed itself upon the gentle glow of the laptop's screen. "Is there any record of this 'Feliciano Roma-Vargas'?"

"Not yet." The hacker mumbled, bent double over his laptop. Fighting the urge to shiver, he pushed his glasses back up his nose. "But I have found a few records of a 'Feliciano Vargas'."

"Pull them up."

The blond smirked in self satisfaction, pale green eyes narrowing behind thick lenses. "Right away."

A pink screen flickered across the laptop the moment he pressed the "Enter" key, displaying child-like doodles and a cheerful, "Better luck next time!"

The temperature of the room dropped several degrees. He flinched.

* * *

Lilli couldn't help but grin when she was alerted of the activation of her virus. Her brother had been right – simply fleeing the country wouldn't be enough to rid the brothers of their underworld hunters. With a happy sigh, she set her slim fingers to the keyboard and began to rapidly tap out coding. There was nothing she liked better than being so terribly useful to her brother, and – when placed before a computer system – there was no one more useful than she.

* * *

The thick-browed youth stared blankly at his computer, overly-large headset still strapped over his ears and blaring wild music. He hadn't suspected another hacker to be working on the side of the Italian Mafia, and certainly not one quite so skilled. He paused, tapping an olive-hued thumb against the space bar as the man scoffed behind him.

"Still not as good as your cousin, I see."

The young man scowled. "Well, if you're so fond of Kiku, Uncle, why don't you ask _him_ to help you?"

Yao said nothing, but his amber glare grew frigid.

"That's what I thought."

* * *

"Lilli?" Vash popped his head into the darkened room, squinting irritably through the shadows. "How can you work like this? You're going to ruin your eyesight!"

His sister didn't take her eyes from her monitor as she greeted him. "Good morning, _Bruder_. I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No." He coughed nervously. "But, really, is this lighting… adequate?"

"It cuts down on screen glare." She answered reflexively, keys clattering incessantly beneath her fingertips. "And we've had three hits in just the last 24 hours."

"Three?" Vash's expression flickered from annoyance to surprise. "Are you sure?"

Lilli nodded. "Positive. My virus has been activated three times from three different locations."

Slipping into full-blown alarm, the former head of ground's security strode into the room. "Can you get a pinpoint on the locations?"

"Tsuen Wan, Hong Kong; Narva, Estonia; and one system that I couldn't place." She hesitated, chewing at her lower lip. "Whoever it was came pretty close to breeching the hack, too."

"How long can you hold them off?" Her brother asked, gazing blankly at the computer screen. She smiled.

"How long do you need me to?"

* * *

Because of FanFiction's error thing a while back, this chapter has been posted on LJ for quite some time. Before people find the urge to start beating me for not announcing this, I had no control over the situation. My best advice is that if I don't update due to some other FanFiction screw up ever again, just check my LJ account. Otherwise, everything posted here will also be posted there.


	20. Chapter 19: A Suprise Encounter

Chapter 19: A Surprise Encounter

Alfred tiptoed into the apartment, his watch alerting him of the ungodly hour. In the silence, he could hear his brother's gentle snores, hear the quiet buzz of the cheap air conditioning. It had been a crazy night, and he wanted nothing more than to sink exhaustedly into bed. However, before he could do that, a shower was in order.

* * *

The man's grip on the handgun loosened as he sighed in relief. He watched the familiar blond disappear into his bedroom, muttering something to himself as he pulled his shirt over his head. Turning away, Ludwig couldn't help but wonder in what sort of "business" the brothers were involved.

It was something fairly unsavory, he decided, if the blood spatter on the American's clothing had anything to do with it.

* * *

Morning came and Feliciano awoke with a smile on his lips. He was in a good mood knowing that he was alive, safe, and in a whole new country. There were so many things he wanted to see, so many things he wanted to do. Throwing back the scratchy bed sheets, he stretched animatedly for a few minutes. As though sensing this, Ludwig appeared at the door inquiring about the quality of his sleep and whether or not he was hungry. However, the moment the Italian saw his friend, he laughed. The blond's lips tightened as a question danced in his eyes.

With a happy snort, the heir gestured to his apparel. "I've never seen Ludwig look like that."

_I never wanted to see _myself_ look like this. _He thought, self-consciously tugging at the sleeve of Alfred's hooded sweatshirt. It was a size too small and loudly announced him to be a fan of the New York Yankees. His own clothing had been quickly dubbed "too stuffy" and he'd been lent a few old t-shirts and baseball caps. The only issue were the borrowed jeans – none of them had fit the German's well-muscled legs seeing as the width and length where both a bit more than that of their owner. Instead, he'd been provided with a pair of red sweatpants that Alfred had explained to be, "too big for me, but I never got around to returning 'em." To put it simply, Ludwig felt ridiculous.

"But it's kinda cute, _si_?" Feliciano giggled. "And your hair's all relaxed! You look like a kid again!"

Unsure of whether this was a compliment or not, the blond fingered his loose bangs. "Thank you. Now, if you're hungry…"

His companion pouted. "Aren't you even going to say 'good morning' to me?"

"Good morning, Feliciano."

"That's better." He swiftly fastened his slender arms around Ludwig's neck. "Good morning, Ludwig!"

* * *

"You lovebirds sleep alright?" The American smirked from behind his paper, reaching for a chipped mug of coffee. His larger guest's brow furrowed sharply at the comment, but he said nothing.

"Yup!" Feliciano giggled, not fully comprehending the question as he settled into the chair opposite of Alfred. "I was really tired!"

The bespectacled man grinned warmly. "Good to know. We've gotta take a peek at the sights, right?"

"_Si!_" He cried, bouncing excitedly in his seat at the mention of "the sights". "I want to see the Statue of Liberty!"

"Cool, cool." Alfred nodded, deciphering the other's thick accent quite admirably. "We're gonna run all over the state, but it'll totally be worth it."

Ludwig quietly repeated the response, feeling as though he wasn't wholly involved in the conversation. Like an eavesdropper. The Italian died quickly on his tongue, and he coughed in discomfort.

"What about you, big guy?" The American rocked back in his chair. "What d'you wanna see?"

He shrugged. "Whatever Feliciano wants."

Feliciano looked at him for a long moment.

"Germany… you don't want to see anything?" His tone was disappointed, almost scolding.

"I-Feliciano," he caught himself just in time. "I told you not to use that name anymore, and no. I have no desires but your safety and happiness."

"But Ludwig…" Wide amber eyes trapped him, bending him to their will as though he hadn't a spine of his own. "You aren't a Beilschmidt anymore. You're a person, not a robot! You must want to see _something!_"

Under the curious gaze of the others, Ludwig sighed. Putting together a quick list of landmarks in New York, then eliminating those that held little interest to him, the man formed his answer.

"Ellis Island."

Alfred rolled his eyes. "Aw, c'mon. That's right next to Liberty! Probably why you chose it, huh?"

"Oh, but I want to go there, too!" The Italian interjected, an excited smile on his lips. "And Times Square, and Central Park, and Broadway, and uh… and…"

A hand found his shoulder as the American's quieter twin murmured. "There's no rush. You'll have plenty of time to see everything you want."

Feliciano grinned appreciatively at him. "_Grazie!_"

* * *

The group of them had left the apartment later than they originally planned and ended up eating lunch at a small, family-owned restaurant. Italian, naturally.

Ludwig watched in amusement as his former charged worked his way into the kitchen, chatting animatedly with the employees. They, along with all who met the bubbly young man, had fallen prey to his open, friendly manner.

"Hey, dude!" Alfred snapped his fingers impatiently, barely an inch from the other man's nose. "Does he actually cook?"

Resisting the instincts telling him to grab the American and throw him across the establishment, Ludwig nodded. "Well, we had a chef, if that's what you're asking, but Ita… Feliciano has always enjoyed cooking food in the kitchen. Especially pasta."

"Figures." He chuckled, shoving his glasses back up his nose. "He's Italian, isn't he?"

Alfred's brother elbowed him, indigo eyes blazing. "Shut up, eh? We're in an Italian restaurant, Al. Show some class!"

"When don't I?" The blond winced, massaging his injured ribs. "I'm a classy individual."

The German snorted.

"Oi, potato eater!"

Eyes wide and neck snapping painfully in his haste to locate the speaker, Ludwig made an incredible discovery. Two familiar men stood in the doorway, one smirking the other scowling.

"I though you went to Florida." He growled, addressing his brother in German.

Throwing himself into a chair across from his younger counterpart, the albino helped himself to the nearest menu. "Didn't we?" He paused to cast a lazy glance in the other's direction. "What the hell are you wearing?"

"Hey, big guy, who are these people?" Alfred was calling, pointing shamelessly to the new arrivals. "You know them?"

He nodded curtly. "Alfred, Matthew, this is my brother, Gilbert, and Feliciano's brother, Lovino."

"Nice t' meecha!" The American offered his hand, thumping Gilbert enthusiastically on the back. "Alfred F. Jones, super epic hero, at your service."

"Uh-huh. I'm sure." Scarlet eyes rolled towards the ceiling, then dropped to Matthew. "And what was your name again?"

Just as the mild twin opened his mouth to speak, he was interrupted by a furious outburst.

"Where's my little brother, you fucking sausage biter?" Lovino practically bristled, face flushing with rage. "What the fuck did you do to him?"

Perhaps he'd sensed his sibling's presence, perhaps his timing was just that good; either way, it was at that exact moment that Feliciano emerged from the kitchen bearing two trays piled with steaming food.

His jaw dropped with the plates.

"Lovino! Prussia! What are you doing here?"

* * *

Eh, so, Germany's indescision will become an important part of this story. Remember that he's spent his entire life repressing his emotions and urges, and now everything is bursting free. His wishful thinking in the last chapter really is the beginning of his own human behavior.

Also, sorry for the wait. ^^ I've got about three more chapters waiting to be edited and proofread, but it'll take a little while. I promise that, if you stick with me, I'll keep progressing with this story as best I can!


	21. Chapter 20: Becoming Reacquainted

Chapter 20: Becoming Reacquainted

Ludwig dove for the food, managing to halt the trays' descents lest their contents be lost to them forever. Carefully maneuvering around the ecstatic man, he placed the well-loaded dishes onto the table.

"Lovino, _fratello_, I thought I'd never see you again!" He was crying excitedly, dissolving into rapid Italian even as he embraced his only remaining family member. "And Prussia, too! Look, Ludwig, your brother's here, too!"

The blond nodded curtly, still wondering what had brought the two other men to New York. Perhaps there had been trouble?

Drawn by the shouts, the head chef of the restaurant exited the kitchen, wiping his hands on a tomato-stained apron. He was an easygoing young man from the Seborga region, quick to smile but still slightly reserved. Upon seeing the elder Roma-Vargas, he strode forward and welcomed him warmly.

As the three Italians conversed rapidly in their mother tongue, Alfred, Matthew, Ludwig, and Gilbert found themselves in an awkward silence.

"So, how've you all been?" The albino had asked finally, settling back in his seat. He snatched up a fork and began attacking a plate of Feliciano's forgotten pasta. "Partying like rock stars and all that?"

"Feliciano and I have only been here a day." Ludwig answered him sharply, brow furrowed. "I'm wondering how you and Lovino came here without my knowing."

The two Americans quietly chewed their food, eyes peeled for the inevitable argument. The tension had been building since the two Europeans had stepped through the door, and the conflict promised to be fascinating. Alfred slurped his coke, wishing he'd thought to bring popcorn.

"Florida's the old people state." Gilbert was snorting, busily stuffing his mouth with pasta primavera. "And Lovino was bitching nonstop about you molesting or raping his brother or some shit."

"What?"

The blond twins silently agreed that the German's red-faced expression of horror and anger was more entertaining than anything either of them had ever seen on cable.

The elder Beilschmidt smirked, laughter in his eyes. "Don't worry, I told him you didn't know how even if you wanted to."

"Gilbert!"

Matthew winced, sharing Ludwig's embarrassment. It had been a low blow, but all was fair in sibling rivalry. Beside him, Alfred let out a low, "ouch…"

"Hey, I had to protect my sweet, little, virgin brother." He cackled, resting a mockingly pitying hand on said brother's broad shoulder. "Couldn't let Lovino get the wrong idea, y'know?"

"It… I… that's…" A strange, choked gurgle fell from the taller man's lips as he fumbled for words. His ears burned scarlet. "My personal life is none of your business!"

Gilbert shook his head. "You mean it _wouldn't_ be my business if you _had_ a personal life."

"The big guy's getting' crushed!" The blue-eyed American whispered loudly, nudging his twin as though he weren't already watching. "Aw man, his brother really pulls out all the stops, doesn't he?"

"Oi!" Now Ludwig rounded on his new companions, fixing them with an indignant glare. Alfred just laughed, calling upon his (generally) unshakable confidence.

"C'mon, man! You shoulda told us about that shit!" He continued, raising his soft drink to salute the German. "There are loads of American chicks who dig foreign dudes!"

The albino waved a playful finger and the American, winking with an air of false secrecy. "I don't think it's the chicks he's looking for, if y'know what I mean."

Both elder brothers roared with laughter as their respective relations exchanged exasperated looks.

"Be nice, you two." Mathew said finally, his gentle voice nearly inaudible over the men's obnoxious bouts of mirth. "Ludwig can't help it if he likes men."

"Ludwig likes men?" Feliciano's head snapped, picking up the most unfortunate part of the conversation before the blond man can object. He grinned, relief and joy sparkling in his warm, amber eyes. "Why isn't he telling me sooner?"

The German froze, knuckles begging to be thrust into his brother's face or gut or whatever else they could reach. With that one quip, he had set him on the spot to answer a question he wasn't ready to answer.

What would he say to Feliciano? What _could_ he say? His chest tightened as his mouth went dry. The restless thoughts of the night before returned at full force, overturning what little logic he had mustered. It was now or never.

"I don't like men." He gulped, not missing the flicker of hurt that crossed the heir's face. Bracing himself, Ludwig continued, "just… just Feliciano."

The brilliant smile that split the young man's face, the former guard decided, was worth the pain. However, he could feel five pairs of eyes weighing on him, smothering him beneath shock, amusement, and disbelief. He could feel Lovino lining up hideous oaths and malicious attempts at his life.

With his usual naïve, oblivious manner, Feliciano strode quickly across the restaurant to throw his arms around the taller, stronger man. He nuzzled their noses together, gazing contentedly into the pale, bashful eyes of the German, surprised to find conflict in their depths.

"What's wrong, Ludwig?" He asked, the Italian rolling pleasantly around the other's ears. "You look upset."

Ludwig shook his head, eyes becoming blank once more even as a tight smile stretched across his lips. "Nothing, it's nothing."

* * *

As they exited the restaurant, Feliciano dashed ahead of the others, chattering ceaselessly as he fell into stride with the masses on the crowded streets. Ludwig was smiling faintly at the heir's exuberance, watching carefully as he waved his arms freely in explanation.

Suddenly, he stumbled, amber eyes wide. The blond lunged forward to catch him, but someone else caught him first. And then Feliciano disappeared into the crowd.

Panicking, Ludwig quickened his pace. He shouldered past the surrounding pedestrians, searching wildly for the familiar brunet and finding him nowhere. It was impossible, but the young man had been snatched up before his very eyes.

"Feli?" Behind him Gilbert was calling out to him, scanning the crowd as well. "Feliciano? Where the hell did he go?"

* * *

As the five friends called out to the missing boy, Feliciano was being placed in the back of a taxi cab. Head swimming with sweet fumes of whatever had been jammed into his face, the Italian slouched wearily against the shoulder of a smiling stranger.

"Hello, Feliciano." He spoke slowly, a thick accent hindering the drugged man's ability to fully comprehend his English. "Do you remember me?"

* * *

The plot thickens! Whoever might have snatched up Feliciano?

Also, I'd like to thank everyone who's been reviewing this story! You don't know what all of your messages mean to me. ^^


	22. Chapter 21: Questioning

Chapter 21: Questioning

Cradling his head in his hands, Ludwig fought back the scream that was threatening his lips. He had allowed himself to fall off guard, and now Feliciano was paying for his mistake. He inhaled deeply but was unable to rid himself the sick feeling in his stomach. The cold reality of the situation nagged at his conscious, endlessly presenting the most morbid situations possible. Feliciano had been kidnapped by human traffickers, Feliciano had been kidnapped by serial killers, Feliciano had been kidnapped by illegal organ harvesters…

"Oi, West." Gilbert stood before him with a painfully solemn expression carved into his features. "I'm sorry. We're doing everything we can, but…"

He let the obvious remain unspoken, as though afraid to jinx the situation.

"I know." Ludwig barely recognized his own voice as it rang out in the tense air. He saw his brother hesitate, lips parted to speak, then turn away.

The silence was renewed as the albino walked stiffly from the room. For once in his life, he realized that there was nothing he could say that would change anything in the slightest.

* * *

"_Bruder, Bruder!_" Lilli shook her brother awake, her voice lively with fear. The man woke and rolled peevishly onto his side.

Forcing back the irritable first thoughts that crossed his mind, he made himself answer his sister civilly. "MMhn?"

"One of that hackers broke through my virus."

He was fully awake and on his feet in seconds. "Which one?"

* * *

Antonio maneuvered the motorbike down the street, weaving easily through traffic. Leaning forward, chest low and level to the handlebars, he scanned the apartment buildings for the one Lovino had mentioned in his frantic text message. He turned sharply, leaving a dark skid mark on the graying asphalt as he located his destination and steered into the parking garage.

* * *

Glancing away from the souffle he was preparing, Francis consulted the screen of his cellular unit. His eyes grew wide as he scanned the message (from Gilbert) detailing an unbelievable situation. Calling out to the restaurant's manager, the star chef and owner of the establishment announced that they were closing early on account of a forgotten appointment. He threw away his hat and apron, hastily tugging on his jacket and dashing out to his car.

* * *

Lilli motioned to the flashing date and time indicating the breech. It had been earlier in (what had been in Switzerland) the evening, and had only targeted one thing: phone records. Using the hijacked information, the hacker had proceeded to trace the Roma-Vargases to New York, possibly to the home of "Alfred Jones" with whom Ludwig had spoken before departing for the States.

Her brother's expression hardened as he realized that both Ludwig and Feliciano were in grave danger. An unknown party from an unidentified region had accessed their files and now knew exactly where to find them.

"Lilli," he murmured, unable to peel his eyes from the screen, "call Roderich and Elizabeta."

* * *

The sound of footsteps and loud voices broke through Ludwig's thought process as he sat in his room – the room he had shared with Feliciano barely hours before. Irritability reaching the breaking point, he stormed to the door and wrenched it open.

He hadn't expected to find Antonio and Francis conversing somberly with his brother, wearing their concern visibly on their faces.

"What are you doing here?" Ludwig asked sharply, masking his confusion beneath his usual stern behavior. "I thought you were returning to your respective nations."

_Of course_, he found himself thinking, _no one else seems to have done so._

"Ah, _Allemagne, je suis désolé_." Francis came forward at once, resting a slender hand over his heart. "You finally confessed your true feelings for _l'Italie _and things turn out like this. How tragic."

The German sputtered. "Th-that's not-!"

"That's tough, _tío_." Antonio patted him firmly on the back. "Hang tight _¿vale?_"

Glaring at his brother's friends, Ludwig was surprised to see no laughter, no mockery in their eyes – they were honestly offering their comfort to him. He nodded wordlessly.

Gilbert fixed him with a searching look, piercing and direct. "You… _do_ like Feli… right?"

"I…" Once again, his mind went blank. "I don't know, actually."

"What?"

"I said, I don't know!"

His brother sighed deeply, fingers rubbing circles into the bridge of his nose. "West, West, West… what the hell am I gonna do with you?"

"What are you talking about?" He snapped, frustrated and confused, "you're the one who's not making any sense!"

"You're still a Beilschmidt," Gilbert retorted testily. "You're all held up in stupid laws and oaths and that shit… You've gotta be human now."

_You aren't a Beilschmidt anymore. You're a person, not a robot!_

Ludwig bit his lip. "Feliciano said something like that, too."

"He was right." A stubborn crimson glare met his own. The blond looked away.

"Then why'd you lie?" Antonio cut in, tilting his head like an inquiring canine. "I mean, if you're telling us you don't know how you feel about Feliciano, I guess you don't know. But then why'd Gilbert say you told him that you loved him?"

The Germans looked at him, as though realizing his presence for the first time. Finally, the older of the two nodded.

"Toni's got a point. Why _did_ you lie?"

Under the scrutiny of red, blue, and green eyes, the young man heaved a great sigh. "Because he kissed me."

All three sets of eyes blinked.

"He kissed you?" A smug grin had weaseled itself onto Francis's lips. "Where?"

"In the airport."

The Frenchman raised a thin brow. "I meant on your body… but the airport? _Allemagne, _I never had you pegged as a public kisser…"

"I didn't have a choice!" Ludwig flushed at the implication in the other's voice. "And it was only on the lips! I mean, it was… well…"

"How long?" The brunet asked, an earnest smile crossing his face. "How do you count them? One apple, two apple?"

"Was there tongue?"

"Did he hold you around the neck or the waist?"

"Did either of you bite?"

"_Mon dieu,_ you're so lucky."

Under the constant deluge of questions, the former guard felt his ears burning unbearably. The room was growing hot, and he was quickly losing his composure.

"We, uh… we just kissed." He said finally, clearing his throat pointedly. "And anyway, that's completely beside the point."

Gilbert crossed his arms imperiously across his chest. "Alright, tell us what him kissing you has to do with you being a lying bastard."

His brother winced.

"I thought… it would be best."

"To lie?" The albino wasn't impressed and his tone implied as much.

"I knew that Feliciano had… has feelings for me." He sighed, "I thought it would be easier to just accept them. If I didn't, I was afraid that he might have lost trust in me or been hurt."

Suddenly, the elder German let loose a short bark of laughter. "So, to follow the Beilschmidt oaths, you lied to Feliciano?"

"Yes."

"And you did it so you wouldn't hurt him?"

"Yes."

"Then you broke the greatest law of all time." Gilbert announced proudly, "you became emotionally attached to your charge and let it fuck up your better judgment."

Ludwig opened his mouth to object then, with a start, he realized that his brother was right.

* * *

I love emotionally challenged Ludwig... /shot

So the Bad Friends/Touch Trio has returned! Apparently no one could be terribly bothered to go back to their own country...


	23. Chapter 22: Them and Us

Chapter 22: "Them and Us"

The alleyway was empty but for two weary prostitutes, largely ignored by the nervous-looking youth as he drew his cell phone from a pants pocket. Shivering fingers urgently pressed the number keys, and the device was placed up among a mess of sandy blond curls. He waited, anxiously, counting the mechanized ringing on the other end. _Once… twice… thr-_

"_Da?_"

"H-he's here, sir." The words stumbled from pale lips, moist with a recently applied coat of saliva. Tongue darting out again, he continued. "Th-the informant has him."

His employer paused to consider this, breathing menacingly into the phone.

"Very well. I will send the others to join you."

He swallowed with a dry throat, his wide eyes dancing with paranoia. "W-wait… that man, the guard, I… I w-won't have to face him, r-right?"

"No, no, no." A throaty chuckle sent chills down the boy's back. "But if you see him, you will not live to tell me. Good luck, little one."

Staring blankly at the phone as it rested in his trembling hand, he drew his sleeve across his eyes. If the boss gave him an order, he was bound to obey or die trying. Sometimes, he wished that it was easier to achieve the latter.

* * *

Yao set aside the headset, growling with disgust. Behind him, his nephew carefully covered their cyber tracks, ensuring their eavesdropping session went unnoticed by the Russian boss.

Yong Soo, that _idiot_, had a captive worth billions in the underground – perhaps even more. It was impossible to fathom such a bumbling moron could manage such a feat. Not to mention that he had caught a Beilschmidt off guard. That was truly impressive.

He hummed pensively, drawing his hacker's attention.

"Guess you misjudged Yong Soo, huh Uncle?"

Deadly amber pierced him. "It's a fluke. There is no way that fool could have managed this on his own."

"Of course." The teenager didn't doubt it – that Yong Soo had managed the whole thing on his own. He had seen firsthand how clever the hitman was, how merciless. Out of spite, he bit his tongue. His uncle would have to learn the hard way not to underestimate his "siblings". They were plenty intelligent and fully armed, and if their boss kept on talking them down, he would have a whole lot of bullets in his head that would serve as their official resignations.

* * *

The young woman stepped off the plane, scanning the runway as she did. All around her, people were clutching bags and cell phones, struggling to contact their families and friends. Tugging her duffle bag up on her shoulder, Elizabeta strode meaningfully towards the gate. From there, she would quickly locate Ludwig and his brother, and aid them in any way that she could.

Making her way through the airport, she ignored the noise of the crowd. In her former occupation, she'd been in several of such establishments in at least six of seven continents. Of course, she had always been there to "silence" someone. Now, she was on a defensive mission.

"Stop!"

A familiar shout made her turn just in time to see a young man come barreling through the crowd, a very familiar satchel tucked under his arm. Without a second thought, she rushed forward to meet the thief, thrusting a quick elbow to his nose and a knee to his gut. He bent double and she forced him to his knees, wrenching the stolen bag from his grip.

"It's not nice to steal." Her English was rusty but nearly perfect when she scolded the failed criminal, smiling down at him with every ounce of menace she could afford. The teenager simply shuddered and scrambled desperately back into the crowd.

"Wait…" A panting, dark-haired individual squeezed through the patrons, his glasses askew and face flushed from running. Her husband seemed to be every bit as feeble as he had been last time she'd seen him. Of course, it hadn't been even a week since they'd parted ways.

Due in part to their quarrel, Elizabeta had chosen to stay in Italy after the disbanding of the Roma household, wanting to enjoy the old cities in a way she had not been allowed previously. _He_ had returned promptly to Austria.

_Probably to visit his psycho-bitch mother. _She thought with distaste.

"Looking for something?" She addressed him coolly in Magyar, dangling the bag before his disbelieving face. "I would recognize your man-purse anywhere, Roderich."

The pianist scowled, snatching his property away from his previously-distanced wife. "It's a satchel."

"I guess you're here on Roma family business, too?" Elizabeta pointedly ignored his retort, turning to walk toward the exit. "Though I wonder why they'd ask a man who can barely aim a g-"

"Level-headed rationale," he cut in sharply.

She snorted. "They could have asked Vash for that."

"Hmph." Roderich eyed her briefly. "You still travel light, I see."

"No point in packing for a hit job."

"Of course." Regret flickered through his indigo eyes as she continued her steadfast march. "Elizabeta, I apologize…"

"For what?" She knew – he knew that she knew. However, her insufferable female genes made her want to rub in his face that fact that he'd acted like a total barbarian to her and that she expected some sort of compensation. He sighed.

"I acted… inappropriately." The Austrian replied primly, refusing to grovel. "My actions were rash and crude – something that I would much sooner expect of an idiotic German (named Gilbert) with the reasoning powers of an insect. Hereby I offer you my deepest regrets and hopefully request that you accept my plea to join you in your mission."

"I guess I can forgive you." A smirk toyed at her lips as she glanced back at him. She looked thoughtful, then giggled. "So, how was your mother?"

* * *

Gilbert peered into the darkened bedroom, feeling his sibling's unrest without having to see him. He lounged against the doorframe, searching for the words to fill the silence. Finally, he cleared his throat.

"Can't sleep?"

"_Nein_." The reply was weighted and final. Cot springs screeched as the man shifted. "Not tonight."

His elder brother hesitated, eyes tracing the shadow he cast upon the floor. "It happens."

There was a moment of quiet tension as the two men gathered the courage to speak.

"Do you think he's still alive?"

"Yes," Gilbert replied immediately: half telling, half wishing. "Of course he is. _Gott_, don't be such a fatalist."

A smile lingered in the heavy air. "You're right."

"Am I ever not?" With a chuckle, the albino pulled himself away from the doorjamb. "Get some sleep, West. It's not gonna help you any if you don't."

"Of course."

Even as the man drew the door shut behind him, he couldn't help but to send a quick prayer to the God he no longer know how to address.

_Please let Feliciano be safe._

As he crossed the apartment to collapse onto the couch, Alfred stopped him.

"C'mon, have a beer with me."

Accepting the brown glass bottle, Gilbert snapped off the cap and drank it down.

"This tastes like shit."

The blond shrugged tiredly, flopping back onto the sagging sofa. "How's the big guy?"

"Moping, worrying," he set the emptied bottle on the coffee table. "Acting like a mother. Y'know, the usual."

"And your friends?"

"More of the Circle… specialists hired to defend the Roma house. They're here to get Feli back."

"Gotcha."

They sat thoughtfully, grimly, considering the situation.

"Where's your brother? The quiet one?"

"Working." Alfred offered him another beer from the cardboard six-pack nestled between his feet, then reached for another of his own.

The albino paused to ask, "What do you two do, anyway?"

"We…" Lips tightened in disgust as the blue eyes glinted with disillusionment. "We fill the morgues."

"Who around here doesn't?"

His friend smirked wryly. "When I was a kid, I always wanted to be a cop… a hero, y'know?"

"Villains have more fun," was the thoughtless reply. Pulling his mouth away from that of the bottle, Gilbert shrugged. "Life's a helluva lot different from those cartoons and shit. There are no 'good guys' or 'bad guys' out here. It's always just 'them' and 'us'."

* * *

Lots of random dialogue and building action. There will be more soon... ish.

Concerning Austria and Hungary: though I don't really like Roderich all too much (for some reason, his character grates on my nerves...), I didn't want to leave him and his wife on bad terms. They (cannonly) get along well, so I brought them back together. Also, Roderich seems like the type of person who would go visit his mother when given the chance... bet she's one of those psycho mother-in-laws.

Also, some interesting insight to Alfred and Matthew's business dealings.

Everyone knows the teenager at the beginning of the chapter was Latvia/Raivas, right?


	24. Chapter 23: Lost

Chapter 23: Lost

When Feliciano opened his eyes, he was crouching in a small, dark area that smelled of mold and grime. His feet were numb, his head was spinning, and his wrists were bleeding around the sharp metal of the handcuffs that held him in place. He breathed deeply through his nose and out his mouth, trying in vain to calm himself enough to find a way out. Instead, he felt himself slowly giving way to hysteria. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

Hours – or perhaps _days _– passed unmarked. His initial panic faded into weary resignation. Kneeling there alone in the dark, he wondered who his captors were. He wondered where Ludwig was, then he wondered what was taking him so long. Finally, he closed his eyes, smiling gently to himself. No matter what happened, Ludwig would rescue him. He was sure of it.

* * *

Lovino entered the kitchen area of the apartment to find an unreal amount of handheld weapons stacked on the modest counter. He blinked slowly, then rubbed at his stinging eyes. The rifles, pistols, switchblades, stun guns, _explosives_… they were still in place when he looked back. He growled. Americans and their Second Amendment rights.

He sat in an unoccupied chair, pondering as to where everyone had gone and whether or not he would have to prepare supper for himself.

"_Oye, _Lovi, _dame este fusil, por favor._"

The Italian whirled to find Antonio seated on the other side of the kitchen, sleeves rolled up at his elbows as he busily oiled a semi-automatic. Again, he blinked. Then he scowled.

"So you finally got my fucking text message? Tch, took you long enough." Lovino reluctantly retrieved the firearm and brought it to older man.

Using his knuckles (as to avoid getting grease on his earphones), he yanked the small plug from his ears. "Hey, Lovi, sorry about that. Traffic was real bad."

Falling easily into his usual role of occupying the ex-hitman/ex-gardener's time, the Italian nodded to the weapons. "Why all the guns?"

"We're going after your brother, Lovi." A steely resolve glinted in his Antonio's eyes. "Francis, Gilbert, Ludwig, and me… we're some of the best in the business. If we can't get him back, no one can."

A stubborn sob crept up his throat at the mention of his missing sibling. Swallowing it back, he scowled darkly at the Spaniard. "Will you idiot bastards bring him back safely?"

"_Te prometo, _Lovi. I promise."

"Hello?"

The men in the kitchen jumped, both pulling away from each other sharply as a pretty young woman stepped into the room. She smiled, tossing a long, chestnut ponytail over her shoulder.

"How are you two?" Elizabeta asked, silently wishing she'd brought her camera. "Keeping well?"

"Not bad!" Antonio was on his feet in a moment, kissing the air next to the Hungarian's cheeks as he embraced her. "It's good to see you, Liz."

"It's only been… five days." Lovino grumbled. "It's not like it's been years or anything."

The newcomer merely grinned. "Aren't you going to give me a hug, Lovino? Even after all these years I spent taking care of you?"

"Fine." He was less than reluctant as he wrapped his arms loosely around her. "I sorta missed you."

"Why thank you."

Someone cleared their throat.

Roderich stood awkwardly in the doorway, arms burdened with two suitcases and a carryon satchel. The Italian snorted.

"I didn't miss you, asshole."

"I didn't ask." He strode into the modest kitchen, dropping his luggage as he went. "Is this where you've been staying? It's a wonder I have yet to see a cockroach."

Antonio frowned. "It's a good place they have here. If you don't appreciate it, keep it quiet. Alfred and his brother have been nice enough to let us stay without charge."

"Of course." Roderich bit his tongue. "So, where is Ludwig?"

"I dunno," the Spaniard replied with a shrug. "Maybe you ought to ask Gilbert."

"Someone called?" He popped his head through the doorway on the other side of the kitchen. Catching sight of Elizabeta, he rushed in and hugged her as only a friend could – a rib-breaking squeeze that lifted her clear off her feet.

"Gilbert." Her husband stared out over his spectacles, clearly disapproving of the attentions his wife had earned. The albino stepped away and offered his dark-haired counterpart a pale hand.

"Roddy."

Roderich took the hand and they shook, rather, they attempted to crush the other's hand. Needless to say, Gilbert had an unfair advantage.

"Vash called us out here to defend Feliciano and Ludwig." Elizabeta explained once everyone had calmed down. The Austrian said nothing but cradled his hand to his chest, hoping that the crunching he'd heard wouldn't affect his piano playing.

"Hadn't you heard?" Expression darkening, Gilbert spat, "They took Feli."

"What?" Roderich's head snapped up in alarm as his wife covered her mouth with her hands. "But they only just accessed the phone records the other night…"

"Phone records?" The Spaniard wondered aloud. "Is that how they tracked them here? Clever… We've got a smart bastard on our hands, _es verdad._"

From his position beside the kitchen table piled high with weapons, Lovino snorted. "We've got enough firepower to shoot the jackass full of lead. Why don't we just go get the son of a bitch and blast his balls off?"

The other males winced.

"Gilbert? Where is Ludwig?" Elizabeta was asking, glancing out into the rooms beyond the kitchen. "He _is_ here, isn't he?"

"Yeah, he's here." His brother shoved his hands into his pockets. "Taking it all super hard, though."

At this moment, Francis decided to make his presence known in announcing the lack of Ludwig's.

"Men? I believe that we have lost track of our dear-" He stopped short, confused by the crowd. "What are you doing here?"

"We came to protect Ludwig and Feliciano," was the indignant response. Clearly Roderich was growing weary of repeating himself – he had little patience for poor listeners and fools. "What I should be asking you four is what _you _are doing here. You were all supposed to part ways to avoid being associated with each other."

"I own a restaurant here, _mon cher_."

"Eh, you know me, _tío, _I'm job searching…"

"Lovino wanted to come out here to keep an eye on my baby brother."

Their excuses were cut short with a brisk hand gesture. "Enough. Francis, you were saying that we've lost track of our dear…?"

"Oh." He blinked, as though he'd already forgotten. "I just went to the guestroom. _Il n'est pas là._ He's gone."

* * *

Tucking his restless hands into the large pocket at the front of his sweatshirt, the German strode quickly down the sidewalk. He needed to get out, to move, to think. The emotional chaos was starting to catch up with him, flooding him with sensations he had never before experienced. After years of being held back by a complex series of vows and honor codes, the raging storm of suppressed sentiment was looming on the horizon. He could already feel the first drops pelting against his face. Sorrow. Anger. Fear.

When he forgot to worry about Feliciano as his charge, he found that the kidnapper had stolen something much more precious: a childhood friend held in the highest esteem; a dependant entity whose faith in his abilities had anchored him and given him strength; a wonderfully gentle young man who was sensitive, kind, and easy around people… everything he wasn't. The more he thought about it, the more Ludwig realized that he'd lost an enormous part of his being. Without Feliciano, he wasn't entirely sure who he was anymore.

"Hey." A low voice pierced his thoughts as a darkly-clad man stepped towards him, resting a gloved hand on his shoulder. The German tensed, readying himself for a fight.

"Excuse me, sir, I think you have the wrong-"

"Ludwig Beilschmidt?" His eyes flickered, revealing his surprise. With a grin that displayed a single gold tooth, the shady figure continued. "I've got something here you might wanna take a look at."

Reaching into an inner pocket, the man withdrew an iPhone and held it out to Ludwig.

"Press the screen."

He did.

For a long moment, the video player showed only darkness. Then there was a low click, and lights filled the small, cement cell. Chained at the center was a terrified-looking Feliciano, blinking painfully against the sudden brightness. The shadowy form of a man fell upon him, making certain that there was no mistake in what was about to take place.

A brick settled in the blond's stomach, and his lips fell apart with a low curse that threatened to become a shriek. Powerful hands tightened around the device until it seemed likely that it would snap.

The first blow was to the young heir's unguarded face, a black boot colliding with his cheek and sending his head snapping back. Ducking too slowly, he received a heel to his forehead, then to his nose. Blood spilled freely down his face, running along his lips and dripping off his chin. The tears on his cheeks couldn't have been more obvious even as he silently – desperately – mouthed a single word with shuddering lips.

_Ludwig… Ludwig… Ludwig… Ludwig… Ludwig…_

Pure fury descended upon Ludwig, lending him strength as he crushed the offensive gadget underfoot. Taking up the messenger by the lapels and lifting him clear off the cement, the German slammed him against the wall of an old pharmacy. Letting the boiling rage take over, he repeatedly smashed his fist into the man's face, not stopping even as blood splattered back against his cheeks and stained his pale knuckles.

"Where is he?" His voice was a guttural snarl ringing with primal savagery. "What the hell did you do to him?"

His victim choked on broken teeth as he struggled to form a response. Nonsensical words stammered from his busted lips, falling to the ground in servile shame and fueling the larger man's disgust. Finally, releasing his grip on the man's stained shirt, Ludwig watched coldly as he fell, crumpled, to the concrete.

"Tell whoever sent you that it's only a matter of time." He growled, knowing that his victim could no longer hear him but needing to force the words through his lips. "Tell him that the moment I find him, he'll have an eighth of a second to pray before I put a bullet between his eyes."

* * *

Yay, another chapter! Unfortunately, this means that there are very few that will be remaining to this story... we're very slowly drawing to a close. T_T

Depending on how this ends, there _may_ be a sequel. I'm making no promises.


	25. Chapter 24: Found

Chapter 24: Found

Natalya stood waiting for the shuttle, her one suitcase resting obediently at her feet. Consulting her watch for the second time in a minute, she let loose a low growl of irritation.

The main source of her annoyance revealed itself in the form of an uncharacteristically cheerful young man who twirled a stray, chestnut lock of his chin-length hair around a pale finger. Sensing the woman's storm-hued eyes on him, he smiled.

"What do you think of New York, Miss Na-"

"Disgusting."

He managed to cling to his tentative grin. "I must admit I'm excited. Many people from my country came here to-"

"I don't care."

The man's mouth snapped shut. Beside him, his companion scanned the line of shuttles, searching for theirs. Instead, Natalya's attention was drawn to a pretty Asian girl weaving her way through the crowded parking garage. Her long, dark hair, pinned away from her eyes with a flower-shaped ornament, swung behind her as dark, almond eyes busily scanned the faces of those around her. The girl's movements were too perfect. Though she was young – possibly not yet in her twenties – she moved with a sort of calculated grace that set the Belorussian on edge. Natalya's fingers twitched for her blade (stowed carefully in her suitcase in the guise of kitchenware).

"She's very attractive, isn't she?" The Lithuanian offered, having also caught sight of the Asian. "Perhaps you should begin to wear flowers in your hair as well."

"Shut up, Toris." She flicked a loose strand of platinum blond hair over her shoulder. "Pick up your bags, we are following her."

* * *

"_What?_"

On the American end of the telephone connection, Roderich winced slightly at the tone of the other man's voice. "You heard me, Vash."

"_How did this happen? Where's Ludwig now? Goddamn that little-!_"

"Enough." He pursed his lips in distaste. "Ludwig's been missing for a little over an hour; we don't know where he's gone."

"_What?_"

"_Bruder, we can just use the…_" Lilli's voice flickered through the receiver, her words fading slightly so that he was unable to catch what she'd said.

"_We _do _have that, don't we? Hm. Pull it up._"

"What's going on?" The Austrian snapped irritably as the sound of computer keys clattered in the background.

"_We 'tagged' those two about five years ago._" Vash was snorting, unimpressed. "_If we can still access the signal, we should be able to-_"

"You chipped them? Like animals?"

"_It was for safety purposes._" Was the edgy reply.

"_It's going to take a while to connect, Bruder._"

There was grunt. "_We'll get back to you later, Edelstein._"

The line went dead.

Slipping his phone into his pocket, Roderich haughtily adjusted his eyewear. He turned to his wife.

"They can find them."

"Good." Though she didn't look up from the rifle she was inspecting, her tone displayed relief.

Across the apartment, the door opened slowly then shut. A heavy pair of feet eased its way across the cheap linoleum towards the kitchen.

"Gilbert? I'm back…" The surprised German trailed off as he entered the room, finding the former Roma employees rather than his brother and his questionable friends. He stared at the married couple for a long moment. "Why are you here?"

Elizabeta stood, setting aside her rifle and trapping the large man in her arms. "It's good to see you, too, Ludwig."

"W-well, of course." He stood awkwardly in the midst of her embrace. "It's a pleasure to see both of you, but why…?"

"Where's Feliciano?" Roderich stated the question without really asking. It was obvious from his cool tone that he knew exactly what had happened.

Gritting his teeth, Ludwig swallowed back his pride. "Who…?"

"Vash sent us." The Austrian's lips tightened to a thin line. "It seems that someone was able to uncover your phone records."

His brow furrowed. "But, how? I though that Vash had someone covering our tracks-"

"Ludwig," Elizabeta placed a kind hand against his chest. "Whoever it was, they got through our hacker's defenses. They connected you to 'Alfred Jones' and…"

"Followed us here." He finished heavily.

She stepped back, meeting his troubled expression with a fire he would not have expected. "Don't worry, Ludwig. We'll find him. Vash's tracking Feliciano as we-"

Roderich's cell phone rang.

* * *

The monitor displayed a helpful satellite image of the American city, revealing streets crammed with those funny, yellow taxi cars and the shuffling citizen masses. Lilli barely blinked as she located the bright red dots situated at opposite sides of the map. One of them, Ludwig's, was positioned safely in Alfred Jones's apartment block. Feliciano's dot, however, was nestled in an abandoned school building several blocks away. She smiled in relief and triumph, hoping silently that it was the living, breathing heir that would be found there. She knew how it felt to lose family, to lose friends. Teeth worried her lower lip.

"_Bruder?_ Call _Hr. _Edelstein, please. I found Italy."

* * *

When the others returned to Alfred's apartment building, they were just about run down by a lone cyclist who shot past them and rounded a turn so quickly that he rode at a near 45 degree angle to the road.

"Watch it, jackass!" Lovino swiped angrily at his chin, spitting curses after the wild driver. At his side, Antonio made a soft choking noise.

"Hey, Toni," Gilbert raised a brow. "Wasn't that…?"

"_Dios mios_, my motor bike!"

Their French companion chuckled merrily. "Judging by his actions, I would say that we have found _l'Allemagne_ and he has found _l'Italie_."

* * *

And so our knight in shining armor rides off on a stolen/borrowed crotch rocket...

In the next chapter, the true villian shows his/her colors. Of course I have heard lots of speculations (most of which I hadn't expected to be honest... I was pretty certain that the "bad guy" was pretty obvious, but I guess it was just me?) over the last few chapters, and I'm anxious to discover the reaction to the dramatic unveiling~

In the meantime, sorry for another relatively short chapter. ^^; These lastest additions have been torn apart and pasted back together so many times that I can't even say!


	26. Chapter 25: Confrontation

Chapter 25: Confrontation

Thoughts were screaming through Ludwig's brain as he blazed along the back streets, maneuvering too quickly to be stopped or reported. Even as the wind whistled along the streamlined curve of the borrowed helmet, the chaos within its walls was greater.

Somewhere in his consciousness, a beast was roaring for blood and retribution. At the back of his mind, a cold voice of reason was reminding him to kill the kidnapper quickly and efficiently – the way he was trained. Any deviations would lead to disaster and ruin. However, the simple logic of the Beilschmidt law was slowly giving way to a more complex anger. He wanted to see that black-booted man doubled over in pain, bleeding profusely from bullet wounds strategically placed in the most painful areas possible. Then, as he writhed, Ludwig would bury his own booted feet into the culprit's face, see how he liked to be attacked without the slightest ability to fight back.

Murmuring its resignation, the voice of reason fled. Ludwig pushed harder, forcing the bike down the semi-darkened road. As the sun set to his back, he found himself feeling more alive than he ever had before. Emotions, it turned out, were powerful things: blinding and dangerous.

* * *

Rows of rust-spotted lockers stood at weary attention lining the dingy halls of the abandoned high school. A distinctive odor hung in the dust-laden air, a scent the man would forever associate with schooling. It was the aroma of text, chalk, failed chemistry projects, all tinged with a soft hint of formaldehyde.

As he ventured through the halls, Ludwig found himself distracted. A small part of him was wondering how things might have been different had he and Feliciano had born to ordinary families here in the United States. Perhaps they would have come to a school like this, bearing backpacks filled with ten-year-old textbooks and worry not for their survival, but for the outcome of their physics final or their class standing.

On an impulse, he paused beside a locker and rested a thick finger on the worn, black dial of the combination lock.

"Will Mr. Beilschmidt please report to the principal's office?" A voice crackled over the school's ancient intercom system. "Mr. Ludwig Beilschmidt? The principal will see you now."

* * *

"What do you mean, 'he left'?" Gilbert was yelling, pale hands fisted into the other man's shirt. His Austrian counterpart only scowled as though irritated at the notion of being threatened.

"I mean that he is no longer here." He replied shortly, forcefully shrugging away from the German's grasp. "The moment he discovered Feliciano's location, he bolted."

"That little shit…" the older Beilschmidt cursed wildly. Turning on his heel, he started for the door. "I'm going after him."

"Here." Making her entrance, Elizabeta quickly pressed a weapon into the albino's arms. "You're going to need this."

When her husband raised a thin brow, she met his questioning look with unshakable determination. "We're going after them, Roderich. It's our duty."

"We no longer work for the Roma-"

"This isn't for the Roma family." she snapped, "This is for Feliciano and Ludwig – our friends."

With a quick smirk, Gilbert shouldered the rifle. "You heard the lady. We're heading out."

"Don't forget us, Gilbert." Antonio appeared in the doorway, arms crossed and face filled with laughter. "Francis and I are coming, too."

"And me, bastard!"

"And me, too…"

Alfred stepped forward, arms spread. "And what would a rescue mission be without a hero?"

* * *

Yong Soo lounged behind the dust-covered principal's desk, smirking at the German over steepled fingers.

"Do you remember me, Ludwig Beilschmidt?"

Ludwig nodded curtly, his stare boring through the man with equal parts rage and disbelief. It had been barely a week since he'd seen the teenager, but already his face appeared to have darkened with age. However, this didn't concern him half as much as the insanity gleaming in the far reaches of the other's dark eyes.

"Do you know why you're here?"

"To finish the job I didn't before."

"I wouldn't." Yong Soo hummed in false innocence. "You never know what might happen…"

The blond swore through clenched teeth, hand still resting on the butt of his handgun. "What did you do to him?"

"You know, it's sad." The man pretended to sigh in exasperation, ignoring the question entirely. "Your charge… he's so boring. He never tries to fight back when he gets hit – he just cries. Such a let down."

Ludwig could feel his fury building like pressure in a boiler tank. Heat was pulsing through his body, gathering in his chest and tinting his vision red. Thick-fingered hands twitched in anticipation.

"Look at you, Ludwig. I know you were trained better than this." Dark eyes glinting, he shook his head. "You would never lash out in a blind rage, would you?"

"Try me." The low threat was ground between clenched teeth.

Yong Soo's expression became frigid, all mocking abandoning his tone. "I'm disappointed. You've become weak, haven't you, Ludwig? Didn't you promise me a bullet to the head?"

He forced back a snarl, instead raising his handgun and releasing the safety. The other man chuckled mirthlessly.

"Your emotions are getting the best of you." Contempt rang in his voice. "You're so angry that you can barely take aim, let alone shoot me. Come on, Beilschmidt, is_ this_ your family's strength?"

Swallowing back the curses dancing on his tongue, the blond simply asked, "If I put a bullet between your eyes what happens to Feliciano?"

"Is it his fault you've gone soft like this?" The accusation was hissed. "He's made you coward."

"Where is he?" Ludwig lunged forward, jamming the muzzle of the gun to the other's brow as he bared his teeth in rage. "What have you done with him?"

In stepping forward as such, he left his back open and unprotected, a detail that didn't go unnoticed by Yong Soo. Catching sight of a black mess of stitches amongst the other's pale locks, he aimed a swift kick to the back of the larger man's head.

Pain swept through Ludwig's skull, sparking like agonizing fireworks before his twitching eyes. Before he could recover himself, an elbow found its way to his ribs where still-healing bones seemed to groan against the strike. Falling to his knees, he lost track of his weapon in favor of clutching protectively at his own chest. His vision blurred and tilted, noises echoing strangely in his ears. He could taste blood on his lips – his blood.

Hands scrabbled blindly for the misplaced firearm only to be stomped beneath a heavy, black boot.

"Look at what you've become!" The Korean was roaring, twisting his heel into the other's downturned palm. "You're weak! Your emotions are dulling you like an old blade!"

"I-I'm… tired of… of being a robot!" Ludwig managed, forcing the words away as his lungs tightened and burned. Another cry of pain clawed itself free of his throat as the boot was lifted and applied to his injured back.

"I'll ask you again. Do you know why you're here?"

Wearily, the blond shook his head.

Eyes narrowed in disgust, the Asian spat out, "Revenge. You turned my brother, my _hyung_, against me. You're the reason I'm like_ this_." His useless arm was thrust before the other's confused face. "You're the one who destroyed my life."

"So then shoot me." He sighed heavily, resignation flickering in his unfocused eyes. "Release Feliciano but do what you will with me."

"You see, that's not going to work." Yong Soo whispered, "My most important person hates me. Your most important person is still waiting for you."

For possibly the first time in his relatively short life, Ludwig was truly afraid.

The last thing he heard before one final blow released his fragile hold on reality was the ex-sniper murmuring into his ear.

"You've taken everything from me, and now I will return the favor."

* * *

Yes, Ludwig's injuries from his fall down the stairs in chapter 14 (FF chapter 15) actually became relevant. He doesn't have miraculous nation/anime character healing powers... such a shame.

Sorry it took so long with this chapter. I've been slowing down a lot as I've been trying to make everything perfect and (hopefully) not too cheesy as the tension builds.

Okay, who was still thinking the main villian here was Russia? Just out of curiousity...


	27. Chapter 26: A Coming Storm

Chapter 26: A Coming Storm

"Where's your charge, Ludwig?"

His grandfather glared at him, his thin-lipped mouth drawn into a firm line. The gentle breath of wind lifted his pale locks from his shoulders where it had been left free of its usual ponytail.

"He's close, I know it."

"But _where_ is he?"

Teeth clenched, Ludwig released his stiff-backed posture. "I don't know."

"Why not?"

"_Opa_,I lowered my guard… and I lost him."

Odoacer caught his grandson's gaze with his, making him squirm like a guilty child. "And before then?"

"I broke my oaths." Words tumbled from his lips, all restraints lost to the other's expectant gaze. "I… I allowed myself to become attached to Feliciano and it affected my better judgment."

"You aren't a Beilschmidt anymore, it shouldn't matter."

"But I am." The young man lifted his head, a mixture of sorrow and confusion twisting his face into a grimace. "I've been this way as long as I can remember. How can I… I mean, I can't just…"

His grandfather stepped forward, resting a hand on his broad shoulder. "Ludwig, you've already begun to abandon us. Your emotions are running wild right now, not allowing you to properly assess the situation."

"What do I do?" It was a desperate question, pleasing for an answer. Odoacer shook his head.

"I don't know. You and Gilbert are unique: the family's been disbanded and our honor code is dead. None of us have ever lived to experience the freedoms you two have. Emotions are like alcohol – they steal away your wits and make you act a fool."

"I understand."

The older Beilschmidt may have smiled faintly, but it was gone in an instant. "But you don't. None of us do."

* * *

Feliciano barely breathed, ribs still aching from the latest round of abuse. He could feel his own blood drying in his nostrils, his lip throbbing where it had been split. The tears had finally dried up, refusing to fall even though his heart was steadily tearing at the seams, one stitch at a time. He murmured through swollen lips for Ludwig, but doubt had already begun to take root.

_He's not your guard anymore._ A voice snarled irritably, its cruel but truthful words punching holes through his aching chest. _You're not his problem anymore, so why would he rescue someone as worthless as you? When was the last time you did something for him, huh? Have you ever?_

Burning eyes slid shut against a dry sob. As he hid in self-induced darkness, he recalled the kiss they'd shared in the airport and how, for a split second, Ludwig's mask had cracked to reveal a wonderful chaos of emotion that had been so thrilling that it had stolen his breath away. However, Feliciano's temporary joy was shattered by the memory of the expression that had flickered across the German's face in the restaurant just before their separation. Even as he'd admitted his love for Feliciano, confusion and shame had exploded through his eyes and set a lead weight in the Italian's stomach.

_He was lying, like he always has. You remember what he said to Prussia that day… that he didn't love you. _The voice was back. _He's just your guardian, nothing more, and he never wanted to be anything more. When he kissed you, he was doing what Ludwig does best: following your orders to make you happy._

Curled up into himself, Feliciano felt himself break as the final stitch securing his heart was torn free.

* * *

He's all yours, _Meimei_." Came the almost lazy order over the phone. "You know what to do."

"Of course." The young woman rolled her eyes at her thick-browed brother's words. "And what does Uncle say?"

A chuckle rattled over the connection. "Nothing. He still believes us to be his own mindless pawns."

"Very well."

Sitting in his small apartment in Hong Kong, the teenager tucked away his phone. It was ridiculously simple to outsmart a conceited man with no consideration for the idea that his subordinates could be as smart (or smarter) than he. Besides, it was about time the head retired from his post – the new generation was ready to seize control at any means necessary.

* * *

Lovino had always carried a gun. It wasn't that he didn't trust that pale-faced German bastard to guard him properly (but he didn't most of the time, the idiot), rather he was attracted to the power the weapon gave him. He liked the feeling of having secret control over the situation, the authority he held in the form of a Derringer. However, he'd never once pulled the trigger.

Something about the mental image of having shot some nasty sonovabitch and watching him bleed out with accusations burning in his dying eyes terrified the Italian. He was a hothead, yes. He was violent and swore like a sailor, but he didn't have the courage to kill someone for himself. Perhaps it was this failing that frightened him the most.

"Something wrong, Lovi?" Antonio was asking, eyes hard but tone soft. The younger man shook his head.

"Nothing, you bastard."

"We almost there?" From the seat behind the driver, Gilbert dug his heels into Roderich's back. "_Gott_, you drive like my grandmother."

The Austrian clucked his tongue sharply even as his wife rested a calming hand on his arm. "You haven't got a grandmother, _Beilschmidt._"

He laughed loudly, a short burst of false amusement to push back the smothering nerves in the car. "Even if she's dead she'd probably drive faster than you."

In the far back of the SUV, Francis, Alfred, and Matthew were crammed into the fold out seats. The blue-eyed American toyed anxiously with his handgun – an old Colt in surprisingly good condition – his sneakered foot tapping out an impatient tempo on the carpeted floor.

"Hey, piano man, could we turn on the radio or something?"

Gilbert whirled to glare at him, making furious slicing movements across his pale neck.

A moment of consideration later, the car was filled with the tranquil melody of Chopin's Nocturne.

"Change the station, your music sucks." With a low groan, the German aimed a kick for the other's head.

Having known Gilbert for years, Roderich had the foresight to lean forward as his foot met the headrest. "It's no wonder your codename was Prussia. You have absolutely no understanding of art or culture."

"But I can still kick your ass, eh, _Austria?_ Ever miss Silesia?"

* * *

Ivan stared out the window at the coming dusk, faint amusement lingering in his piercing gaze. Behind him, his subordinate coughed.

"What is it, Eduard?"

"Miss Natalya called. She says that she's tracked the heir and his guard to an abandoned school, but…"

"Yes?"

He could sense lips tightening nervously as a heart fluttered in the other's ribcage like a dying bird. "The Triad is still pursuing him as well. Miss Natalya recognized a female assassin in the airport."

"Yao thinks that he is cunning, yes?" Ivan hummed, tapping a thoughtful finger against his faucet pipe, as though considering whether or not he should thrust the device through the anxious young man's head. "I am even more so. Alert the others – tell them to fire openly at any known members of the Triad."

"But, sir, the Roman Peace…"

"Has ended. Roma is dead, yes? Why should his peace continue? He has no power over us now."

With a jerky bow, the young man left the room.

"What could you possibly be thinking, Yao?" The Russian wondered aloud. "Surely you do not seek to reap rewards that are not your own."

* * *

Toris watched as his shorter companion's wide, indigo eyes grew wider, glinting with uncertainty.

_What's wrong? _ He mouthed, only to have the Latvian turn away. Sighing, the brunet withed he could hear the man on the other end of the phone connection.

"A-alright, thanks Eduard." Raivas bobbed his head in compliance. There was a pause, another nod, and he hung up.

"What is it?"

The boy looked even more anxious than usual, toying restlessly with the drawstrings of his hooded sweatshirt. "Um… W-we've been ordered t-to shoot T-T-Triad members on sight."

"Eh? That bad?" He chewed at his upper lip, drawing it between his teeth. "I didn't think this would escalate into a full-blown war…"

"It should." Natalya strode pointedly into the room, a rag in one hand and a carrying case in the other. "That stupid boy came to tell us about the heir then acted alone. Bastard."

The Lithuanian frowned. "But why would he inform us if he planned to act alone?"

"The money." She hissed, flipping open her case to reveal a neat row of knives and a single handgun. "And the protection. Don't you see, idiot? He waged us against the Triad and made a cover for himself."

Raivas glanced up from the fingernails he was busily chewing to nubs. "H-he's pretty smart then, i-isn't he?"

Snorting, the Belorussian withdrew a knife and began to clean it. "Maybe, but he'll be pretty _dead_ next time I lay eyes on him."

* * *

"This is the ulitmate showdown, of ultimate destiny..."

So there's just a lot going on in this chapter amongst the several different groups. I'm dead serious when I say all hell is going to break loose. Not even kidding.


	28. Chapter 27: Gunpoint

Chapter 27: Boiling Point, Breaking Point, Gunpoint

The once-abandoned hallways rang with footsteps as the three parties raced to converge upon the two victims and their kidnapper. In the western portion of the school, an oddly mismatched band was led by a sprinting albino and a battle-ready young woman with flashing green eyes. From the east came a lone figure: a teenaged girl hefting a gun so large that it appeared unlikely that she would be able to use it. Finally, a trio appeared from the northern entrance comprised of two nervous young men and a murderous female.

As these teams clamored up and down flights of stairs, hustling around the musty corridors, Ludwig was just waking up.

* * *

Cold water sent Ludwig's eyes snapping open as his breath froze in his still-aching chest. Curling onto his side, he struggled to gather enough oxygen to fill his spasming lungs even as he pushed himself into a sitting position. Just beyond his reach, Yong Soo was holding an empty plastic bucket and wearing a dangerous grin.

"The mighty Beilschmidt awakens."

Gritting his teeth, Ludwig was on his feet in a moment. His mind was finally calm and controlled, sharpened to a razor's edge. Humanity was irrelevant now, put on hold until Feliciano was safe in his arms and they were free of this wild threat.

His captor saw the empty glare of the former guard, savoring the resolve in glacial blue depths. With a crooked smile, he pulled the door open just a little more to reveal the ruin of Feliciano.

The confidence in the German's eyes flickered when they fell across the Italian, faltering before struggling to recover. Twitching lips and a dry throat made all speech impossible, but finally, the smallest of whispers was managed.

"Feliciano."

"_Buongirono_, Ludwig." The other's voice trembled as he feigned a smile, the attempt tugging awkwardly at his bruised, beaten face. The handgun was then noticed, slowly rising to take up aim at the blond's forehead.

Ludwig's heart stopped.

* * *

"Prussia, we're not alone." the Hungarian murmured as they slowly descended to the basement. Familiar codenames slipped into place, lending to the pressing, urgent atmosphere.

Gilbert nodded, pistol drawn and held at the ready. "I noticed."

"How many?" Antonio panted breathlessly from behind, eyes darting about the now-empty stairwell as he did. "I think I heard someone running down the one hall, but after that…"

"Four others: three Russian, one Triad." His lips barely moved as he signaled the amounts on his fingers. "The others'll probably run into one or the other, but they're strong enough to kick ass on their own."

They had split into two groups, each taking a half of the school. Francis, Matthew, and Alfred took the upper levels while Gilbert, Elizabeta, Antonio, and Lovino took the lower.

"Dammit, standing here talking's not helping my idiot brother!" the remaining Italian snapped, shooting a vicious glare at his former guard. "Prussia, where the fuck is he?"

Pale digits tightened their grip on his weapon. "I'm about… 99% sure that they're in the basement."

"How'd you figure that?"

"Where else would you take two hostages?" A terse grin appeared. "Don't you ever watch the movies?"

Elizabeta rolled her eyes. "Then why'd you send the others up?"

"Buy us some time."

The Spaniard looked uncomfortable for a moment, brow furrowed in concern. Taking note, Gilbert nudged him playfully.

"Don't worry, Spain. They'll be cool." He paused, then added. "Besides, if they aren't, we still outnumber any other group in the building."

"Unless they all decide to gang up on us."

"It's still only four to seven."

"Five," the young woman reminded him. "Don't forget the bastard who's got Lu- Germany and Italy right now."

Gilbert presented her with his tongue as he shouldered open the door at the bottom of the stairs. "In that case, it'll be five to eight. We can use your stupid husband as a shield at least."

He winced automatically, expecting a less-than gentle blow to the back of his unguarded head. He wasn't disappointed.

* * *

The scene sharpened slowly, as though his desperate mind was struggling to etch ever last detail of his final vision into his memory. Ludwig could see everything: the trembling hand gripping the gun, untrained fingers jumbled uselessly around the handle; the terrified, familiar face of the shooter, swollen and twisted in pain; the bloodshot eyes that, for once, were absolutely dry but rang with hopeless agony; the once-silky strands of copper lying matted against a dirty forehead. The distraught man stared down the barrel at him even as the breath caught in his chest and, behind him, stood Yong Soo with his own pistol pressed firmly to the brunet's head. Ludwig wet his lips, searching for the nonexistent words he could use to comfort Feliciano. His tongue flapped emptily in his mouth, meaning nothing and saying less.

"You came." There was a faint breath of relieved laughter in the Italian's wavering voice. He smiled bravely, ignoring the pain he must have felt as his lip reopened and bled down his chin. "I'm so happy."

The Asian twisted the handgun forcefully against his captive's bruised temple, eyes cold and dead. "Ludwig, I think it's time you told him the truth."

"The truth?" His voice cracked, barely escaping his raw throat. " I don't know what-"

"Tell him how you feel about him, Ludwig." That gaze was mocking him, daring him. "Be honest."

A flicker of betrayal and understanding graced wide, honey-colored eyes but Feliciano's smile didn't fail. "Ludwig says he loves me… and I believe him."

Yong Soo laughed coldly. "And is that true, Mr. Beilschmidt?"

"I…"

"No," the man answered for him. "Do you know why he doesn't love you, Feliciano?"

Feliciano lowered his eyes, refusing to meet Ludwig's.

"Because this man is a robot. He hasn't got emotions." Finger tightening on the trigger, he continued, "He hasn't even got a heart anymore – they stole it away as part of his training to become your pet killer."

"It's not true," the Italian whispered calmly. "You're lying."

"Shoot him, Feliciano," the Korean hissed. "It's his fault you've suffered like this, it's his fault you're hurting. Pull the trigger and put a bullet between his eyes."

Ludwig made no protest. Instead, he raised his chin and, once more, attempted a small grin. "Shoot me, Feliciano, I'll be alright. Your life is worth far more than mine."

The muzzle of Yong Soo's pistol was drawing the warmth from the brunet's scalp, reminding him of his task, of the flimsy promises given to him by the ex-Triad member. Panic had long vanished, and with an unnatural feeling of inner peace, Feliciano smiled back at his protector.

"But _your_ life means more to me."

Icy blue eyes widened as the glacial barrier within them melted and freed his inner turmoil. Heavy shoulders heaved as he fought for breath, feeling as though he'd just leapt from a platform with realizing its true height.

A second gun found itself aimed for the Italian's forehead, a slender finger falling across the trigger.

* * *

Okay, for the record, this actually _was _a legitimate cliff hanger. I'm really sorry about that... (dodges other bulllets)

NOTE: Feliciano has just pointed the gun at himself in protest against shooting Ludwig. I was getting a few confused readers, and I hope this clarifies things...

I'm proud to announce that the next chapter will be up very soon, possibly signaling the "one more chapter after this" mark... I hadn't realized this, but I've been writing this story for almost a year now! Holy crap! Thanks to everyone who's followed this for that long!

Also, as a bonus at the end of this story, I'll be answering questions (script style alongside Ludwig, Feliciano, and Gilbert). So, by all means, ask me some questions. The only rule is that the question cannot concern pairings (ex: Does _ date _ off scenes?). Only one question per person, and, um, please ask? I'm curious to see what has been left unanswered thus far!


	29. Chapter 28: Don't Die a Hero

Chapter 28: Don't Die a Hero

Francis dodged another well-placed stab, cursing in his mother tongue. Hand-to-hand combat had never quite been his specialty – it was far too personal. Not that he was against the invasion of personal space, that wasn't it at all, he just hated to watch as his fist was slammed into the body of another living being drawing blood to the surface of the flesh to form a bruise. He hated the feel of another person's fists and feet upon his own flesh, the dull thud of the blow being taken in by the natural shock absorbers of the body. The knife flashed out at his throat, sending him doubling down into a crouch to avoid it.

The woman wielding the weapon was beautiful, he couldn't deny it. Even as she lashed out at him with her deadly precision, he found himself admiring the slender curve of musculature beneath her pale flesh, her snapping, storm-colored eyes, her dancer-like grace.

He rose, then ducked too slowly, the blade kissing his cheek and leaving behind a trail of scarlet.

"_Merde._"

From somewhere behind him, a gunshot sounded. The young woman's piercing gaze snapped onto the threat, plump lips pursing in fury.

"You. What have you done?"

"I took care of your friends, lady." was the cocky response, one that only the American could have given. "And now I'm takin' care of you."

"Stupid."

It was then that Francis noticed the blood seeping from between the pale fingers of the ash blonde. She groaned low in her throat but remained standing to glare at Alfred.

"We won't forget this."

And with that, she whirled and limped away to find her fallen comrades. The Frenchman heaved a slow sigh of mingled relief and disappointment.

"_Quel dommage._ I should have liked to have met with her in a more casual setting."

"Dude…" The bespectacled youth raised an unimpressed brow. "She was trying to kill you, and all you can think about is dating the psycho bitch?"

He shrugged. "She was very beautiful, _oui?_"

Alfred simply returned the Colt to his waistband with a disbelieving snort.

"You guys okay?" His brother popped his head out of a nearby classroom, the beginnings of a bruise darkening his left cheek.

"We're cool, Mattie. The hell were you?"

"Taking care of the details you overlooked." Matthew glared at the slightly older blond. "Slow down a bit and do things right, eh? I'm tired of cleaning up your messes."

He smiled winningly. "Aw, c'mon… The hero always needs backup."

* * *

"Feliciano!" The familiar voice was sharp but pleading, something the albino had never heard before. Inching forward, he raised his handgun and approached the source the cry.

Gilbert's eyes widened as he peered into the room. The door was opened just a crack, revealing only a sliver of the situation within. However, he could see enough to know it was time to make his move. He lowered his shoulder ever so slightly, preparing to shove the door open wider to allow his entrance. It would take him a moment to actually take up aim at the strange man holding Feliciano, but if he played it right, he could kill him with only minor damages. As though to make its point, his bullet wound throbbed, reminding him of its presence. Weight shifting to his toes, he took one last deep breath.

"Put it down." The order was hissed into his ear, making him start. He hadn't heard anyone approaching, but the pressure between his shoulder blades assured him of the other's existence… an armed existence, at that.

With a defiant smirk, he dropped his weapon as he whirled to face his attacker, arms raised and hands opened.

_Clakk._

* * *

Yong Soo's head snapped around when the familiar racket of gunfire met his ears, his broken concentration serving as the opportunity so desperately needed by the German. Within a moment, Ludwig had reached his former charge and was prying the gun from shuddering hands.

When the Asian man turned back, he found himself confronted with a lethal-looking blond. For the first time since he'd begun his revenge, his resolve wavered, heart pounding in his chest and belly as his knees shook. He remembered the look of those eyes – icy and intense – but now they burned with a rage so pure that he could feel it.

Slowly, he spread his arms, dropping his own weapon as he did.

"Go ahead, Ludwig, do it." He smiled. "Just don't miss."

"Wait!" A long-haired girl swept into the room, blood splattered almost delicately across the fine features of her young face. "Stop!"

"_Meimei?_"

She ignored the two Europeans entirely as she bowed her greeting. "Yong Soo, please come back with me."

"What?" Face twisting to reveal disgust, fear, and pain, the Korean gestured sharply with his pistol. "I'm not going back to that bastard Yao. Never."

"Not Yao, with us: my brother and me." She stepped closer. "The head of the Triad is old, too old, and conceited. He believes himself to be untouchable, and my brother believes that the time is ripe to rise up against him."

Yong Soo hesitated, biting his lip. Before he could open his mouth to respond, a hole had appeared in the side of his head, blood and brain matter exploding outwards to cover the surrounding individuals. Feliciano gagged softly, doubling over with dry heaves that told Ludwig he had nothing in his stomach. Before the girl could respond with a shot of her own, her young chest was decorated with her own blood. She staggered slightly, pain and shock written across her face in scarlet, before she crumpled into a motionless heap on the floor.

Covering the brunet's eyes with his own shivering hand, Ludwig lifted his gaze to the doorway of the room.

"You heard him." Gilbert panted, a cocky grin setting his lips into a twisted arc. "He's never going back."

"_Bruder!_"

He bobbed his head. "Hey, West. You guys okay?"

"We're fine…" His response died in his throat. There was blood collecting on the floor around his brother's feet, the large droplets falling from a wound in his abdomen. Already the pale, almost-translucent skin of his hand and forearm was dyed scarlet as he struggled to keep the pressure on.

"Feli? You're good, right?"

Even as horror flared in his eyes, the Italian nodded weakly. "Prussia, are you okay?"

"Just awesome." His voice rasped unnaturally and brought blood to his lips. "Go on, you two. Liz and the others are waiting."

"Gilbert!" The woman appeared as though summoned, charging towards them with wild eyes. She'd been suspicious when he'd suggested their splitting up again, knowing that – despite his outwardly careless appearance – he was a natural problem solver with a mind like a super computer. Not only was he a tactical expert, he was also an older brother with a protective streak as broad as the Oder. She'd fooled herself into believing that he loved himself too much to put himself in danger, so nearly forgetting that he was, after all, a Beilschmidt.

Shoving Ludwig and Feliciano forward, he told her, "Take 'em and go, Liz. I'll catch up with you later."

"Bullshit." The woman took Feliciano tenderly by the arm, nodding pointedly at the younger German. "Get your brother; carry him if you have to. I'll take Feliciano."

Ludwig quietly complied and looped the albino's arm around his neck.

"I'm just gonna slow you down!" he insisted, "Just leave me here, I'll be fine!"

"Shut up, Gilbert." Elizabeta spat. Slapping him full across the face, she hissed, "You're not gonna die a hero. Not today."

* * *

Two more chapters and an epilogue~

Quickly, I'l like to point out that I really didn't want to kill Korea. Honestly. I didn't originally think I would. However, as time passed, I realized that if I made it a "No, let him go free, Germany~" ending, it could be seen as a cop out. Plus, Taiwan just but a hole through Gilbert's stomach and I didn't think he'd be all too forgiving of that...


	30. Chapter 29: Dynamite

Chapter 29: Dynamite

Lovino had started sobbing the moment he'd seen his brother, throwing his arms around the battered Italian – alternating between cussing him out and telling him how much he loved him. The younger brunet simply held him, silent tears streaming down his cheeks. Behind them stood Ludwig and Gilbert, leaning heavily on the other for support but refusing to speak for fear their voices would crack with the true panic they had felt. They were men, Beilschmidt men, and they guarded themselves just as closely as they did their charges. Instead, the albino weakly tightened his grip around his sibling's neck, as though to say, "I'm so glad that you're alive."

They were a sight emerging from the abandoned school, clothes bloodied and faces grim. From his vantage point in the van, Roderich viewed them almost haughtily as they approached.

"Where are the others?" was Antonio's first question. Unnervingly resolute green eyes swept the empty parking lot for the Frenchman and his American partners.

"They're on their way out."

"And the other groups?"

"No one."

Wincing in pain, Gilbert had removed his shirt to instead apply it to his wound. His face had taken on an ashen tint and his forehead was clammy with sweat, but he didn't so much as whimper.

"We need to get Gilbert to the hospital." Ludwig spoke urgently, addressing the Austrian man behind the wheel. "Go, take him. The rest of us will just wait here."

The driver hesitated. "What if there are others who are injured?"

"Then…" He clenched his fists, sneaking a glance at the ex-guard's vacant expression that was only broken with the bright agony that flared in his glassy eyes. "Fine, wait. The moment they're out of the building and you see that they're alright, drive."

"But-"

He was cut short by the senseless worry in the younger man's expression. Finally, Roderich nodded.

"Of course."

"Here they come." His wife's voice was tired as she announced their arrival, waving a hand towards the entrance. "And they're all in one piece."

Indeed, the young blond seemed ecstatic while his brother and European companion came into sight, none of them seeming even winded. There was a moment of hesitation, then the van's engine started. It was gone in a moment, pulling out of the parking lot as a sigh of relief left Ludwig's lips.

He turned to face the rest of his friends.

"Let's see some respect for the heroes over here!" Alfred was calling, arms pumping in the air as though to rouse a crowded sports stadium rather than a small group of individuals who had just escaped injury and death by a hairsbreadth.

"You guys made it! _Gracias a Dios!_" The Spaniard hugged each of the three blonds. "Only one casualty, then."

"Who?" Matthew silently counted the members of the rescue team, chewing busily at his thumbnail. "Wait, we're missing…"

"The idiot was trying to go out a hero." Elizabeta snorted, arms crossed and fingers digging into her arms to hold her in check. "Stupid bastard, making us worry."

Francis looked interested. Hand coming away from the cut on his cheek, he glanced distastefully at the blood on it before tucking it into his pocket. "What happened to him?"

"Shot in the stomach." the German replied hollowly, voice hoarse and head pounding. The cut at the back of his head was throbbing again, reminding him that the stitches had probably been split. "It didn't hit any vital organs, but he lost a lot of blood."

"He saved us." For the first time since his rescue, Feliciano spoke up. His voice was uncharacteristically steady, weary, as he walked slowly towards his former bodyguard. "That man, the Asian, he was going to kill us but Prussia shot him and the girl from the doorway."

"The girl?"

"She was a Triad member." Frowning, Ludwig inhaled. "She was telling that… person that she and her brother were planning to overthrow their head."

The bespectacled American tilted his head, hands on his hips. "What happened to 'em?"

"Prussia shot them both before they could hurt us." He drew his slender arms closer around himself, trying to look brave and failing horribly. "But I knew it would be okay because Ludwig was there."

The tall blond itched to grab Feliciano and hug him, so glad to be alive and high on the adrenaline still pumping through his veins. All the emotions: fear, worry, relief… they were all twining into a dangerously intoxicating cocktail that swept away his reason and set him on an equal level to a beast functioning solely on instinct. Elizabeta eyed him knowingly from behind Lovino, nodding as though she had read his thoughts.

"F-Feliciano…" He rested a hand on the smaller man's shoulder, so close to his neck but resisting the urge to outright embrace him. "I'm glad you're alright."

Pain flickered through the other's eyes but an empty grin stretched across his face. "Thanks, Ludwig. I knew you'd come for me."

Now the Hungarian was glaring at him. She mimed hugging the Italian, then made a few lewd motions with her tongue. Blushing, his attention was returned to Feliciano.

"Do you really love me, Ludwig?" His question was frank and his tone demanded an answer, giving the man pause.

His heart was pounding in his ears, his head was floating in the clouds, his mouth was dry, and somehow he could tell that it was all because of the slight brunet. It was his fault for filling his once-logical mind with fluffy desires and confusing urges that squeezed his heart almost painfully in his chest. Licking his lips, he set his reply into words.

"Yes."

"What?"

"Yes, Feliciano." His hand had moved of its own accord, slipping from the heir's slim shoulder to his back where it pulled him in and closed the distance between them. "I…"

No one breathed.

"I…"

Twin pools of amber looked up at him expectantly, uncertainty swimming in their depths. Oxygen seemed thin as the breath caught in Ludwig's throat and strangled him. Gathering up his courage, he forced the words from his hesitant lips.

"… love you."

"_Che?_"

"I love you."

"I can't hear you, Ludwig." There was something desperate in Feliciano's tone as he gripped tightly at the front of borrowed sweatshirt the German still wore. "Say it again."

He roared, "I love you, goddamn it!"

There was a stunned silence, broken only when Lovino began to curse. Antonio only threw an arm around his waist and pulled him away, laughing quietly to himself.

The words had finally sunk in, the Italian's heart fluttering restlessly. "You mean it?"

"Yes." Ludwig sounded almost exasperated, so much more like himself than before. "I… it's true. I'm sorry I lied before, but…"

He was saved from having to finish his statement by the lips that were upon his, so sweet that he wondered how he had never before noticed just how much he'd wanted them for his own.

* * *

When his sister and former partner failed to contact him, the Hong Kong native was forced to accept that they were not coming back. Teeth gritted against the pain of loss, he had packed a small bag and left his apartment in a blur of mourning and renewed anger.

It wasn't hard to find his uncle, seated between two beautiful women and drinking pricy alcohol in a comfortably public setting. The Triad boss laughed when he saw the teen, leering down at his subordinate with an air of sickening superiority as he caressed the girls' pale shoulders.

"Did she find him?"

"Yes, Uncle."

"And?"

"They're dead, Uncle. Both of them."

Yao's eyes darkened slightly in what may have been remorse. "They were talented. It will be difficult to find new recruits of their caliber."

"You won't need to."

"Wha-?"

The gun's report sent the onlookers into a panic, the prostitutes on either side of the man even more so as they found themselves generously covered in his blood. Shrieking, they fled the scene of the murder, high heels clacking like aftershocks on the tile floor. Yao spat the crimson liquid from his mouth and regarded the young man with cold eyes.

"Why did you do this?"

"Because we're not disposable." he spat, smooth face contorting in rage. "All of them had names and faces, Uncle, but you didn't care, did you? You just needed more bodies to fill the morgues – to replace for yourself."

"You're foolish." A clumsy hand smeared the gore across his face in an attempt to clean it. "You don't understand."

Lips tightening, he snarled, "No, _you_ don't understand. We're not stupid, we're not puppets… we're not your damned pawns!"

The trigger was pulled back once more and his uncle fell silent.

His firearm dropping to the ground, the young man knew it was time to disappear. Sirens could already be heard in the distance, and he knew that it would only be a matter of time before the police arrived armed and all too ready to shoot.

With a final glance back at the dead man, he raised a hand in a rude salute. It was juvenile, perhaps, but it made him feel better somehow, as though Yong Soo and his _meimei _were watching him and laughing at that exact moment.

* * *

You can decide for yourself what happened to Hong Kong after this.

So, yeah. The Triad's pretty much halted... this generation, at least. And I really, _really _hope the Germany/Italy scene in which he finally is able to recognize his feelings didn't come across as over done or cheesy. He's been under a lot of stress and now, he's got one of those adrenaline highs going for him...

One more chapter, then an epilogue. Thanks for reading, you guys.


	31. Chapter 30: The Aftermath

Chapter 30: The Aftermath

Ivan grimaced inwardly as his sister came into sight via webcam. She was clearly infuriated, but her surroundings seemed to imply a hospital room. A sheepish Toris came into view a moment later, fluffing her pillows and speaking kindly to her in an undertone. Ignoring him, she addressed her brother.

"The heir got away."

"And the traitor?"

"Shot dead with the filthy Triad woman."

"Good." He nodded, adopting that familiar, joyless smile. "You may return home once you have recovered enough to fly."

"But, Brother-!"

"I think that it is fair to say that they have won this round, yes?" His fingers tapped pensively at his faucet pipe as he scolded his sister with his eyes.

She grudgingly relented, barking something at the antsy Lithuanian man hovering at her bedside. He raised his hands and took a step back, but did not stop shooting affectionate glances in her direction.

"Are the others unhurt, Natasha?"

The sound of the nickname brought a hint of color to her pallid cheeks. "Ah, yes… this idiot, the brown-haired one, was hit in the side. Barely grazed. Then the small one was knocked unconscious from behind with the butt of the pistol. Sloppy work, really. All of it. I was expecting much more of these famed people."

"But if they had not been so… 'sloppy', you would not still be here."

She grumbled, then added, "We didn't face the guard, only his comrades."

"How utterly disappointing." A thoughtful finger was resting against his lips. "Perhaps the next time, yes?"

"Why don't we strike back now?"

"With your wound?"

Natalya scowled but didn't respond.

"This family will mobilize, hide somewhere deep within the heart of America where no one will recognize them. There they will hide from us, and there we will find them. But for now, let them believe that they have a complete victory, yes?"

"Fine." Irritation taking over, she nodded curtly to her brother and slammed the laptop shut. "Where's the nurse, Toris? I want to leave now!"

* * *

Ludwig had run to the hospital by himself, leaving Feliciano in the tender care of his old nursemaid. He'd confronted the receptionist immediately, asking if an albino man had passed through. She nodded and told him the room number, but warned that he had just been released from surgery. He told her that he didn't care, it was his brother.

Barely five minutes later, he was seated beside Roderich as they silently watched Gilbert's chest rise and fall steadily, punctuated by the electronic _bleeps_ of the medical machines. The doctor had assured them that the Beilschmidt would pull through, commenting that he doubted this man would die easily. Ludwig had silently agreed with him. Gilbert was many things, and stubborn was just the tip of the iceberg. To his left, the Austrian shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"Do you know where I could find something to drink?"

He shrugged. "There's a vending machine down the hall."

"Would you get me a water bottle?"

"Why?"

"Because I'm watching this idiot." Roderich replied sharply.

_Because you're afraid of getting lost, more like. _the younger man found himself thinking as he stalked down the corridor. All around, white-clad doctors and green-clad nurses hustled about like squirrels, stopping here and there to chatter before scurrying off to their next destination. However, amidst this constant rush, one figure remained stationary. It was a short boy, perhaps fifteen or sixteen in age, standing outside a room with his hands buried into the frontal pocket of his sweatshirt. He looked worried, to say the least, and when he caught sight of Ludwig, he flinched back.

The German barely thought anything of it, knowing that his appearance could be rather intimidating and not making the mistake of trying to smile at the boy to lessen his fears. It had never worked before.

* * *

"I s-saw him."

Toris knew immediately that his friend was speaking of the Beilschmidt guard, and immediately stole a worried glance in the direction of the unconscious woman's bed. "Are you positive?"

"H-he's just like the p-picture… b-but bigger."

"Bigger?" Perhaps it had just been his imagination, but the German had seemed enormous to the brunet even in the photo. Of course, it could have been the way he stood a head taller than anyone else in the crowd. He shuddered, quickly repressing the unpleasant imagery. "Um… maybe we should go talk to him?"

"Why?" Raivas looked horrified at the suggestion, expression scandalized. "H-he'll rip you t-to shreds!"

His older companion was already at the door, hand resting thoughtfully on the knob. "I guess, I want to just try to talk to him, maybe… Maybe to warn him that our Boss won't easily give up?"

Flashing the boy one last, apologetic grin, he shut the door behind him.

* * *

Grumbling to himself, Ludwig slowly made his way back to his brother's room, his head still aching with the traces of injury. The water bottle in his hand sloshed with each of his steps, reminding him of his errand and, somehow, irritating him all the more. What right did the Austrian have to boss him around like a child? Gilbert was _his _brother, after all, and nothing but trouble to the pianist.

"Um, excuse me? Mr. Beilschmidt?" He heard the anxious voice to his left, turning sharply to face an equally anxious-looking man toying with the brunet locks that hung around his face. "I'm sorry to bother you…"

"Do I know you?" Blue eyes narrowed suspiciously, his muscles tensing slightly in preparation to either escape or fight.

"No." His words held a hint of an accent, eastern European if Ludwig wasn't mistaken, as they trembled from his lips like fragile glass. "But… but I wanted to talk to you."

"Why?"

"Because I know a man – a powerful Russian man – who would very much like to hurt you and Mr. Roma-Vargas. I wanted to warn you, though. I don't want to be part of this fight, and I think you and your friends are good people." He hazarded a small smile. "They held our lives in their hands and did not steal them, and I am very grateful for this."

Disbelief graced Ludwig's square face before it vanished behind the guise of apathy. "You are from the Mafiya."

"Yes."

"I could kill you right now."

"I know."

"Then why…?"

"I just felt that it was fair to warn you." The Mafiya member didn't seem offended at all by the death threats, instead taking them into stride. "I have much respect for you, sir. I want you and the little heir to be able to live happy without this man interfering."

"Well… thank you."

"Please live well, Mr. Beilschmidt." Sweeping his chin-length hair from his eyes, he inclined his head. "Also, thank your friends for me. I will never forget their kindness."

* * *

Only the epilogue left now, so this is technically the end. That'll be up probably by Friday. Hooray~

Thanks to everyone who's stuck with me after almost a _year_ of writing this story!


	32. Epilogue

The author's note is here for this final chapter *hyperventilating*, and I'd really appreciate it if you would read this quickly before endulging in this last little bit of a harrowing story.

Thank you all so much for reading and leaving so many wonderful reviews! You have no idea how much all of them mean to me and how much they encouraged me to write more. You have on your hands a very greateful writer who would love to do present you with a symbol of my gratitude...

So I come once more to the questions/bonus chapter. Questions may concern the lives of any character in this universe (I've been dying to share their backstories for quite sometime, now) or anything else that does not include asking "does Alfred actually have a British boyfriend hidden away somewhere?" Ask about Ludwig and Feliciano's childhood, Gilbert's childhood, their lives after the end of the story, etc. Please ask, too. I want to do something for you!

Now, without further ado, I present the epilogue. I really, really hope that this will live up to all of your expectations!

* * *

Epilogue

He strained against the downward force, muscles quivering as the cool metal stole the warmth from his slick hands. Sweat rolled off his cheek, tracing a hot line down his thick neck where a vein was bulging in a display of effort. Finally, he set up the bar, returning it to its holder.

Feliciano applauded him excitedly. "Wow, Ludwig, that was a lot of weights. You're so cool!"

Flushed cheeks darkened as the German pulled up his t-shirt to wipe his face, revealing to his companion his pale, rippling abdominals.

"Thank you, Feliciano."

"Mm, you're welcome, Ludwig." The heir giggled. "I'd hug you, but you smell really bad… even worse than normal."

"I smell?" He raised his arm to check, laughter in his eyes as he played along. "I don't smell anything."

Feliciano nodded solemnly. "Yup, you smell like a German."

"Well, then I had better take a shower." He swooped down on the smaller man and hefted him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. "Come on, you can guard my things while I clean up."

"But wouldn't you rather let me shower with you, Lutz-y?" Nimble hands made their way to his firm backside and groped playfully.

The German blushed until he was dizzy, swallowing hard at the other's less-than subtle suggestion.

"N-no, I can do it myself."

* * *

He emerged from the gym much cleaner, walking alongside the Italian so that their arms brushed. Feliciano was talking at a million miles an hour, waving his hands excitedly as he enthusiastically presented his lover with his elaborate dinner plans for the next week. The taller man took an almost lazy sweep of the street, scanning the now-familiar faces of the town's residents.

The two of them had relocated to a small town in an undisclosed state, introducing themselves as Ludwig and Feliciano Williams (Alfred and Matthew's mother's maiden name, forced upon them by the New Yorkers who insisted that it was fairly common and that no one would think twice). Though their apparent union was often a source of great discomfort for many of their neighbors, no one could say that they didn't seem very happy together. Indeed, many of the bored housewives were beginning to take an interest in the young, attractive European men who lived so separately from the rest of the population.

"We're home!" The brunet threw open the door, excited voice filling the empty house with its melodious tone. Behind him, the former guard gently pushed him inside, wondering why he always insisted upon announcing their arrival when nobody was-

"West! Feli!"

"Prussia?"

A familiar albino something crashed into them both, hugging them tightly in slim but powerful arms. "_Gott_, I've missed you two!"

"It's good to see you, too, _Bruder._" After recovering from the initial shock, Ludwig pulled him into a firm embrace. He hadn't seen his brother in two months, and even then, Gilbert had given his farewell from a hospital bed. "How's your stomach?"

"It's got a hole in it." Came the joking response as his shirt was lifted to reveal a neat patch of scar tissue just above the waistline of his blue jeans. "It's still sorta healing, but you've got no idea how good feels to be standing up right now."

"How's Lovino?" Feliciano asked, almost nervously. "He's not causing any trouble, is he?"

A theatrically troubled look crossed the elder German's face. "Well…"

"Well what?"

"Look out front." He smirked.

Running to the entry way, the heir yanked open the door to see two moving vans and four very familiar faces. The blond slugged his brother in the arm for the trouble he'd given Feliciano, but both knew the action was half-hearted at best.

"What…"

"Surprise!" Elizabeta ran forward to gather the young man into her arms. "Oh, Feli, how've you been?"

He squeezed her back, pausing only to kiss her lightly on either cheek. "Wonderful, wonderful! Everything's even better now that everyone's here!"

"_Idiota_, don't forget your own brother." Lovino grumbled from the neighboring lawn, hands jammed irritably into his pockets. "We're fucking moving to this dump, too, you know."

"Really?" Amber eyes wide and shining with excitement, he rushed over to greet what remained of his family. "Lovino, I'm so happy to see you! And Toni, too!"

"_Hola, caracola_." Antonio grinned, wrapping his tanned arms around both Italians. "It's good to see you, too, Feli. I've been with Lovino for the last couple months and all he does it tell me how much he worries about you. It's always, 'Feli this' and 'Feli that' – even when we're having a moment."

A well-placed elbow loosened several teeth in the Spaniard's lower jaw. "I did not, bastard. Don't just bullshit stuff to people!"

"Would you like to come inside?" Ludwig had arrived, employing his usual no-nonsense tone as he gestured to the house he shared with the bubbly man. "We're making a lot of noise, and I'm sure that the neighborhood will hear about this soon enough as it is."

* * *

"What's this about?" His expression was clearly unimpressed as he glared across the kitchen counter at his new neighbors. "Not to imply that I don't appreciate your visiting, but doesn't it seem a little… unwieldy for us to all be living in such close quarters?"

"We used to live in one big house, Ludwig." Elizabeta tutted, waving a finger at him playfully. "We're just trying to get that same feeling going again."

Feliciano beamed in pleasure, clapping his hands excitedly. "Great! This is going to be so much fun!"

The German snorted and addressed Roderich. "You're agreeing to live so close to my brother?"

"It's… It will be for the best." was the prim reply. The woman next to him squeezed his arm affectionately, grinning in a suspiciously contented manner. Having received his answer, the ex-guard sighed heavily.

"And you two?"

Before the Spaniard could respond, his partner leapt to his feet.

"I'm not letting you just fucking waltz off with my little brother, asshole!" Lovino spat venomously. "The moment I let him out of my sight you might r… ravish him or something disgusting like that!"

The Italian's brother giggled, "Silly Lovino, Ludwig's too shy for that! We still haven't even gotten to-"

"F-Feliciano!" The blond's expression was horrified, all heated cheeks and scarlet flesh. "That's completely… that's completely beside the point a-and it's none of their business! Please stay on subject!"

There was a collective snigger that trickled through the small crowd, mostly in the form of an inward chuckle but for the unfortunate young man's brother who threw his head back with a loud snort.

"West the blushing bride! Aw man, you're killin' me, Feli!"

For a brief moment, Ludwig wished that he could have left his brother bleeding out in the basement of the condemned school.

"We wanted to stay in touch, Ludwig." Antonio broke in mercifully, addressing him in a composed tone though amusement was written across his face. "Besides, Gilbo and Lovi have to be in 'close contact' for the rest of their lives – it's in the will _¿verdad?_"

Clearing his throat, the blond nodded. "Ah, yes, it is. Thank y-"

A horrible revelation struck.

"Where exactly _is_ Gilbert going to be living?"

Five pairs of eyes were fixed unblinkingly on him, a sheepish atmosphere descending upon them. Ludwig shook his head slowly, firmly, eyes squeezing shut.

"No, there's no room here. There's only one bedroom as it is, and we don't earn enough to support another-"

"You're living off of the Roma fortune." Roderich pointed out unhelpfully. "And I'm sure you have basement space here."

"Maybe, but-"

The Spanish man grinned widely, patting his albino friend on the back. "You're not really gonna leave your elder brother in the street, are you? C'mon, _tío_,where's your compassion?"

"Wherever his dignity is."

Gilbert scoffed. "Like I _really _wanna live in your fucking basement."

"Then _move._"

"With what money, West? You're the ones with the inheritance here, not me. I haven't got a penny to my name."

"Then of course you can move in with us!" Feliciano settled the matter immediately, stepping forward to hug the albino German. "You saved our lives, after all!"

_And he'll never let us forget._ the blond thought bitterly, reluctantly accepting the other's final judgment. With a sigh, he offered a hand to his older sibling. "Welcome home, Gilbert."

"Why thank you, West. Your generosity astounds me." Sarcasm dripped from his thin lips, but his sneer was unbearable. The offered appendage was withdrawn immediately.

"Be grateful, _Bruder. _If it had been up to me, you'd be living in the backyard."

"Still haunted by those old memories of Beilschmidt boot camp, eh?"

Ludwig frowned. "Never."

"So, Feliciano, what have you been doing for the last few months?" Elizabeta asked, clearly hoping to redirect the conversation. The Italian grinned.

"I got a job at the supermarket in town. When people come in, I get to talk to them and help them get their things." He chuckled, "Then I also get to flirt with all kinds of pretty girls when they come in."

The elder Beilschmidt elbowed his younger brother in the ribs. "Looks like you've got competition. Better bed him soon, _Bruderlein._"

His comment was largely unheeded but for the fist that made itself at home in his gut. Somewhere in the living room, Lovino yelled something threatening and graphic aimed for both the Germans.

"And Ludwig?" she urged him on, focusing her attention on the young heir.

Feliciano's expression became almost distressed. "He can't find work because he doesn't have a high school or college diploma, so he stays at home and cleans up while I'm working."

Having recovered from the earlier blow, Gilbert chuckled. "Thirteen years of intense, live-threatening training and you become a housewife? I'm disappointed, West."

He was promptly grabbed by the collar and thrown from the kitchen to join Antonio and Lovino in the adjoining room.

* * *

When everyone had left (or, in Gilbert's case, retreated to the basement), Feliciano and Ludwig lay side by side in their shared bed. The Italian's head was resting over his lover's muscular chest, studying his heartbeat as he awaited sleep. Once more, Ludwig was counting the imperfections of the ceiling, quietly vowing to repair and repaint each of them as soon as he could get to the hardware store. A small sigh called him back to reality, and his hand found itself combing gently through the other man's auburn locks.

"What's the matter, Feliciano?"

There was a pause, then "Do you love me, Ludwig?"

"We've been over this, haven't we?" He sounded confused, as though trying to figure out what it was he had overlooked. "You know I love you."

"Forever and ever?"

"Yes."

"Even if I weren't a Roma-Vargas and you weren't a Beilschmidt?"

"Yes."

"Promise?"

Placing a bashful kiss to the other's soft lips, Ludwig nodded. "I swear it."

* * *

"Hola, caracola" means "Hello seashell"

It's sort of like saying "See you later, Alligator."


	33. Bonus Chapter

A/N: I ignored all questions about Russia and the Mafiya so as not to disturb any potential sequel. I also ignored all questions involving USUK seeing as it was a pairing that was not relevant to the story.

* * *

Bonus Chapter

Me: Okay, so your fans have a few questions they want answered.

Italy: Oo, are they girls? I'll answer their questions!

Germany: Whatever, let's do this quickly and efficiently.

Prussia: Pfft. We all know that I'm the reason they're here.

Me: Right, anyway… *shuffles papers* Mm, let's see, there are loads of people curious about your childhood experiences.

Germany: I was in training for a lot of it, and I don't remember anything before then.

Me: How about you and Gilbert wait because there are some questions about your Beilschmidt training and stuff?

Prussia: That's cool.

Germany: *nods*

Me: Okay, then, Feliciano?

Italy: Well, I had lots of fun with Ludwig! We played inside a lot, but we got to spend lots of time with our friends like Spain and France and Hungary. And _Nonno_ was always so great to us!

Romano: Bullshit.

Italy: Lovino! When'd you get here?

Romano: I heard you'd be answering question about your childhood, so I figured I'd better show up to make sure you don't fuck it up.

Me: Eh… So, what do you wanna add something?

Romano: *hesitates* I mean, it didn't _totally _suck, but…

Italy: Lovino… You didn't have a bad childhood! You had Prussia to keep you company!

Romano: Lucky me…

Me: Actually, Lovino, there was a question for you… about your childhood, specifically.

Romano: R-really?

Me: Yeah, they wanna know if something happened to make you so bitter.

Romano: What the fuck? I'm not bitter! Who the hell asks that sort of bullshit?

Me: *under breath* Um… the fans?

Prussia: I hear it happened after his folks died.

Romano: SHUT UP! SHUT UP! No one asked you shit!

Germany: Really? Is that true?

Me: Well, it's true that after their parents passed away, they had to move in with their grandfather. Feliciano was too young to remember his mom and dad, but Lovino remembered and he hated moving in with his grandfather who had distanced himself from their mother for obvious reasons. He didn't want to live with Romulus because he didn't like the "damn German" guard or the "damn shady old man" he was guarding.

Romano: Hey! Why the hell are you answering the questions for me?

Me: You weren't saying anything, so I exercised my writer's right.

Germany: Then what's the purpose of this whole "interview"? Why don't you answer the questions yourself?

Me: To make things more interesting for the readers.

Prussia: I feel so… used.

Me: Quit bitching and listen to the next question.

Italy: Oh… Lovino! I never knew! I'm so sorry I ever called you crabby… or mean… or annoying!

Romano: Idiot! Get off of me!

Me: Okay, okay… Ludwig, Gilbert, we've got a ton of fans asking about your training to become guards.

Prussia: Well, it was ridiculously hard, but I was super awesome and went through it like a champ.

Me: Oh, did I mention that Gilbert remembers some of his childhood before his being scouted by the Beilschmidts?

Germany: You do?

Prussia: My mind's like a bear trap, West, I remember everything.

Germany: I… I think you mean "steel trap", _Bruder_.

Prussia: … Nah, I definitely meant "bear trap".

Me: Anyway, Gilbert, do you wanna tell them or am I gonna have to?

Prussia: *clears throat* Well, it all began when I was small and adorable-

Me: Basically he lived with his great uncle, Friedrich. They were poor, living in East Germany, and the old man wasn't exactly getting any younger.

Prussia: I took care of him, though, didn't I?

Me: Right. While you were two.

Prussia: I… made him laugh. Sometimes.

Romano: Your face could make anyone laugh, dumbass.

Prussia: I can beat the living shit outta you now, you know.

Romano: Tch. *steps backwards slightly*

Prussia: Then he dumped me at the orphanage. Probably 'cuz he was getting ready to kick it or something. *pretends not to be choked up*

Me: He hasn't only got an incredible memory, but he's also got a mind like a champion chess player. His strategy's good, and his fighting is excellent, but his manners can leave something to be desired…

Prussia: You used that exact expression in the story, but you said "social skills".

Me: Like I said, ridiculous memory skills.

Germany: Is that how you were scouted?

Prussia: You remember, don't you? The goons came into the orphanage, played some strategy games, tested some reflexes… y'know. Stuff.

Germany: I don't actually remember what happened before I began training. My first memory was being beaten down by one of my instructors.

Me: Well, you really didn't have a family… but your resemblance to Odoacer _is _notable. I'm not going to point fingers and accuse anyone of sleeping around on the job, but he might have once and he might not have exactly been old enough to be your actual "grandfather". Just saying…

Germany: Why do I feel as though you just made some dramatic revelation that I can't even enjoy?

Italy: *peels himself away from his brother* Ludwig's papa was Germania! Wah! And you were saying that it was a good thing that he died because he was a failure, too! Oh, you must feel so awful, Ludwig! This is so sad!

Germany: Oh… that. *expression darkens*

Romano: Wait a second, he was the same age as our stupid grandfather, wasn't he?

Me: Well, maybe Romulus started... making a family a little earlier than Odoacer did.

Prussia: Huh, I always thought that Mr. Roma was pretty young for having two full grown grandsons...

Me: Why did I even call you guys out here? You're worthless.

Romano: Then answer the questions by yourself, you bum!

Me: *ignores* As mentioned in the story, Odoacer (Codename: Germania) didn't actually have a whole lot of influence over his "grandsons'" childhoods. They were trained by specialists and experts in all fields possible.

Prussia: We trained… what, five different martial art forms? Learned how to handle all sorts of guns, cords, sticks, stones, and shit. Y'know, whatever you can use to kill someone.

Germany: *deadly serious* You can potentially kill a person with anything.

Romano: See what I mean? These guys are fucking psycho!

Italy: D-don't kill me, Ludwig…

Germany: …

Me: What about the other training you did?

Prussia: The boring stuff.

Germany: Human anatomy, some culinary training, several languages, basic mechanics, etiquette-

Prussia: And ballet? *snickers* West was always the prettiest dancer at his recitals~

Germany: *blushes* I was not! There weren't even recitals!

Prussia: But there were the times you danced for _Opa_ and me.

Germany: It was against my better judgment.

Prussia: No, actually this guy dances like he's got cinderblocks for feet. I was _so_ much better!

Romano: Idiot. Is that even something to brag about?

Italy: Ooo! I want Ludwig to dance for me, too! Ballet originated in Italy, you know!

Germany: *grumbles*

Me: *trying to regain control of the situation* How was the Beilschmidt "family" organized, exactly?

Prussia: Well… uh. *glances at his brother* Damn, I'm not really sure. Never really heard much about it. You?

Germany: There was the… the leader. He was the one who guarded the head of the Roma family. Then, there were the scouts who worked for the Beilschmidt family to find all of the guards.

Prussia: Oh yeah. See, whenever a new Roma was born, the head Beilschmidt alerted the scouts and sent them looking for a brat around the same age.

Germany: *corrects him* It's when the Roma child is _one or two_ years of age, that the scouts begin to find a guard. That way, the new Beilschmidts can be appraised better.

Prussia: It's like dog breeding or something, y'know? Find the sturdy, clever looking ones who'll be easy to brainwash into taking bullets for some losers.

Romano: Hey! I heard that you asshole!

Italy: Lovino, stop trying to kill Prussia!

Germany: You realize you just called yourself 'easy to brainwash', right _Bruder?_

Me: Moving on, *shuffles more papers* people want to know about your survival training. The kind that Gilbert called "Beilschmidt boot camp" in particular.

Germanic brothers: *shudder*

Prussia: "Survival training" was just kinda a bullshit term they used for "dumping kids in the wilderness with a matchbook and a knife and see if they come out after a month".

Me: And if they don't?

Germany: Well, the scouts for the Beilschmidt family aren't just people – they're usually trained guards who didn't get the chance to be paired with a charge.

Prussia: That meaning that the first choice guard didn't die in training.

Romano: God dammit! Are you telling me I was one mishap away from not being stuck with this fucking moron as a guard? Fuck, I should've gone out into the woods myself to strangle the bastard!

Italy: But you hate the woods, Lovino. Don't you remember the one time we visited and you got poison ivy all over your-

Romano: Shut up, you idiot!

Me: So there _have _been guards who have died in training?

Germany: Enough that "a few" would be an understatement.

Me: Eh… Who would've thought that something like this would have turned out so dark?

Prussia: You're the one who came up with this shit!

Me: Well, a little tragedy never hurt anyone… right?

Nations: *stare*

Me: A-ny-way… What sorts of places did you go while you were, uh, training?

Prussia: I dunno. Mountains, woods, plains, tundras, islands…

Germany: Anywhere that was too far for us to walk to civilization within a month.

Prussia: That way, we also got to figure out which plants were good to eat and stuff.

Germany: *winces* And if you got that wrong, it wasn't exactly pleasant.

Italy: Poor Ludwig… You did all of that just so you could guard me?

Germany: W-well, of course. I… I mean, it's my job-

Italy: *giggles* It _was_ your job, you mean!

Germany: Ah, right.

Romano: Ugh, I think I'm gonna hurl.

Prussia: *simpers* You want me to hold your hand as you worship the porcelain gods?

Romano: Fuck you.

Me: Gilbert, actually there's a question here for you and Lovino.

Prussia: No.

Me: No what?

Prussia: I never thought he was as cute as his little brother.

Romano: *huffs indignantly* You know I can't respond to that! I hate your brother more than I hate you!

Prussia: I win.

Me: The question is actually about what an average day would be before the whole assassination attempt thing.

Prussia: For me and this loser?

Romano: No, for _me_ and this worthless_ bastard_.

Me: Just what kinds of stuff would you two do together?

Romano: Well, he'd wake up in the morning and piss me off by being the loudest sonovabitch to ever walk the planet…

Prussia: He's just being a whiny little shit. The guy can't sleep if you're breathing too heavily on the other side of the house.

Romano: Then he'd get my breakfast and try to flirt with Hungary while he was at it.

Prussia: You know her name's Liz, right?

Germany: Elizabeta, _Bruder._

Prussia: Like I said, Liz.

Italy: Oh, really? I didn't know…

Romano: Potato-brains. We grew up calling her that. Why would we know her real name?

Germany: I… I didn't realize you didn't know your employees' names.

Prussia: *glances pointedly at Romano* You at least know Spain's real name, right?

Romano: It's Antonio… n-not that it matters, the bastard.

Prussia: Anyway, I wasn't _flirting._ I was talking in an epic manner that could potentially get women interested in me. Not that women aren't interested in me already.

Romano: It was pathetic, shitty flirting.

Prussia: Shut up. *points* He's the one who'd drag us down to the gardens to yell at Toni, then make me drive him into town to some random fucking shop to buy something that he wouldn't tell me about, then make me drive him back so he could run off to the gardens again.

Italy: Oh! Is that how you kept giving Spain all those cute-?

Romano: No! I was just buying myself stuff so I could distract myself from that idiot.

Prussia: Right. Then he'd go inside for lunch and bitch at Francis for a bit, then Roddy'd come down and they'd get in a screaming match over whether or not he was being too loud for the damn pansy to play the piano properly or not.

Romano: So I'd untune his piano when he wasn't looking.

Prussia: Genius.

Germany: Immature, more like.

Prussia: You just don't appreciate good humor.

Me: So a normal day for you two was wreaking havoc and getting into disagreements with the other people in the manor?

Prussia and Romano: Yes.

Germany: _Gott._

Italy: Actually, I remember this one time… Ludwig, don't you remember? When Lovino almost broke the chandelier because-

Germany: *quickly* Yes. I remember.

Romano: *turns bright red*

Prussia: Hey, actually, I've got a question.

Me: Uh… sure.

Prussia: No one knew about the idiot – I mean, Italian – brothers, right?

Romano: I heard that, dumbass.

Me: Not before the whole assassination thing, no.

Germany: I see where this is going. If no one was aware of the existence of the Roma-Vargas brothers, why were my brother and I needed as guards?

Me: Well, first of all, even if no one knew about Feliciano and Lovino, Feliciano and Lovino knew about themselves and they knew that their grandfather had a guard, and their mother, too. It only makes sense that they would each have one. Secondly, it was a formality, really. Romulus and Odoacer were confident in their plan, but the Beilschmidts and Romas (and Roma-Vargases) had always coexisted since some long ago date that I don't care to explore.

Italy: Okay, so then is that why Austria and Hungary were so scared the first time Yong Soo tried to shoot me?

Me: Yeah. They hadn't ever expected an attempt on your life (I mean, who tries to kill someone who doesn't exist?), therefore they knew immediately that someone was leaking information to the "enemy".

Germany: So all of my training was… a formality?

Me: Eh… yes. A bit.

Germany: *grumbles*

Me: Alright. The last questions are all about what you're all up to now that the Triad threat's gone.

Prussia: Is it? What about that Hong Kong guy?

Me: Mm, I think he fled to stay with family in the UK.

Prussia: Oh. Cool.

Italy: Um, well, Ludwig and I are living together now! We're pretending to be married, so we get to hold hands and kiss and hug in public whenever we want! Isn't it great, Ludwig?

Germany: _J-ja._

Me: Ludwig, have you gotten the chance to attend college?

Germany: Well, not now. F-Feliciano and I are still getting settled in our new home, but now that I think about it… I could get a real education now, couldn't I?

Prussia: Tch. Who the hell'd want to get a "real education" after Beilschimdt training? Dude, West, we speak, like, ten different languages and we know at least a bit about basically everything.

Me: So _you _wouldn't want to go to college, Gilbert?

Prussia: Please. I could teach the professors a thing or two.

Romano: Like how to be a pompous prick.

Prussia: I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that.

Germany: *kneads at his temples*

Me: So we know that Feliciano's working as a greeter at the local grocery store, but the way you talked about Ludwig… you made it sound like he's a housewife.

Prussia: Pfft.

Germany: It's true that I do the cleaning around the house, and I don't have a steady job yet, but I think-

Prussia: Did you know that he swaps cleaning tips with the neighborhood women?

Germany: W-what? That's only on occasion-

Italy: Aw, Ludwig! That's so cute!

Germany: *mumbles defensively*

Prussia: Yeah, West, it's so cute~

Romano: *laughs scornfully* I can see it now, the brawny bastard sitting out on the front porch drinking margaritas with the women!

Prussia: Sharing gossip and relationship advice? Kesese!

Italy: Don't be so mean, you two. I think it's really adorable that Ludwig's made friends.

Prussia: Adorable~

Germany: *twitches* You're living in our goddamn basement!

Prussia: Yeah, about that… *addresses writer* Why is it that every time you write me into something, I get totally screwed over?

Me: I don't know what you're talking about…

Prussia: In your first multi-chapter, you kill me off with lung cancer. In your second multi-chapter, I had the living shit beaten out of me by Braginski, then my brother. Now I've been shot twice? Seriously! What the fuck?

Me: I… love hurting the characters I like the most?

Germany: I fell down a flight of marble stairs…

Prussia: Actually, she's writing a story that begins with you falling down a flight of stairs.

Germany: *raises a brow* Is this true?

Me: Well… eh… I kinda… recycled the idea?

Romano: I'd read it.

Prussia: She's a morbid little shit. She's written three… four… _seven_ different stories involving people dying. Matt's died, I've died two… no, _three _times, and the Holy Roman Empire's died… at least once.

Germany: That's only five.

Prussia: You obviously haven't read the scraps of stories she started writing and never finished.

Italy: Wow, you like writing about death a lot… *uncomfortable* That's kinda creepy…

Romano: You're more fucked up than these German idiots.

Me: I just like the emotional factor! Really, that's it!

Prussia: You're a freaking sadist, you mean.

Italy: Ve, so's Ludwig!

Germany: Feliciano! *blushes*

Romano: Shut up, Feliciano! No one wants to hear it!

Prussia: You know what else she likes?

Me: (Uh-oh…)

Italy: What?

Germany: Do we even want to know?

Prussia: *innocent* She likes it when West's a virgin and Feli's topping~

Germany: _Was?_

Me: I don't know what you're talking about…

Romano: Ha! Serves you right, you damn Kraut! Wait… You slept with my little brother?

Prussia: Kesesese…

Italy: But that isn't all too far from the truth, is it, Ludwig?

Germany: *draws gun* No, it's not. Now excuse me while I destroy the evidence.

Me: Um, well, I hope I've answered all of your questions well enough. So excuse me while I run like hell.

Romano: And when he's done killing you, I'm gonna kill the sausage-sucking bastard myself!

Italy: Lovino! Stop waving that gun around or someone's gonna get hurt…

Prussia: Bet you five bucks it'll be me.

Italy: Wait! We only talked about what happened with Ludwig and me after the story!

Prussia: Okay, fine. Liz got a teaching job at the local high school (poor bastards are gonna start having nightmares about the crazy bitch), Roddy's teaching piano… violin… lame instrument lessons, and Toni-

Romano: Tomato bas-Sp-Antonio got a job with a landscaping company. Idiot likes to play in the dirt.

Italy: And France!

Prussia: We ditched the loser back in New York.

Italy: Really?

Prussia: No. Well… he's got a restaurant there that he's head chef-ing, so he couldn't really just back out.

Italy: Aw… I would've really liked to've eaten there…

Romano: And the stupid American?

Prussia: Still working with his brother as a hired gun. They said they'd stop by for a visit sometime this summer.

Italy: Hooray!

Prussia: Oh, and I guess you can't really forget Vash and Lili…

Romano: Who?

Prussia: Switzerland and Liechtenstein.

Romano: Who the hell is Liechtenstein?

Italy: Was she Switzerland's little sister who was really good at computers?

Prussia: She's the one. They're still over in Bern – I guess they're into bank security now.

Italy: I hope they stop by to visit sometime, too!

Romano: Why?

Germany: Damn, she got away.

Prussia: Who? That writer chick?

Germany: _Ja._

Italy: I'm glad no one got hurt, though…

Germany: But she did yell something right before I lost sight of her.

Prussia: And?

Germany: Something about "nyotalia" and a high school/boarding school setting.

Romano: The hell's a "nyotalia"?

Germany: I don't know, but she also said "multichapter" and "posted soon."

Prussia: *snorts* Did she say something about shameless self promotion?

Germany: No.

Prussia: Figures.

Italy: Well, ciao everyone!

Romano: Who the hell are you talking to?

Italy: I thought there were fans?

Romano: What? *glances around suspiciously* Well, if there are, they can go screw off already 'cuz I'm not answering any more goddamn questions!


End file.
